Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters
by Balkoth
Summary: AU Garfield Logan and Richard Grayson were private investigators. Rachel Roth was a misguided woman desperate for answers. When the three meet, sparks will fly, intentions will be revealed, and hopes and dreams crushed. RaeRob.
1. Indefinate Vacation

Hello everybody. Balkoth here with yet another story idea. Yeah, I know, I shouldn't be starting another one but this has been nagging at me for a while now. I'll try to keep a steady update stream going but Collapse is my first priority. Enjoy.

Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters (A Teen Titans ff)

Rachel Roth was your regular slightly creepy poetry club owner, at least during the day. We all have masks though, facets of our personality that we restrain of hide until the appropriate time.

Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan were private investigators. Both had know each other for years and if you asked either they would say that even one year had been way too much. They may bother each other but they were still friends and worked together in a strage Twilight Zoneish synchronization.

Funny and good cop working with obsessive abrassive bad cop on cases from petty theft to kidnapping to homocide. They moved out of Gotham to get away from all the messes that popped up there. The two moved to Jump City and picked up a semi-normal life.

It looked as if the two sleuths would be retiring from the detective business until they learned about The Raven. The Raven seemed to be a small time thief that stole random things at random times but as they meet her, as they try to catch her, Richard and Garfield will find that The Raven is only a small part of a much larger scheme.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction, the product of which belongs rightfully to Balkoth. Any resemblance between real events or persons, living or dead, is unintentual.

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Indefinite Vacation

Richard Grayson, Dick between friends, was retired. He had been for some time. In his prime, Dick had been a private investigator with his long-time partner and friend, Garfield Logan. Usually people called him Gar because he hated that he shared a name with an animated cat.

Now that Dick was retired he wrote. Not a lot, and never under his real name, preferring instead to use a made up name. What he wrote were his more… unusual… adventures as an investigator. It had been years since he thought about it. Now was finally the time to make the story known.

Dick had written a few books now, seven to be exact, all under the same name. For most of the world the detectives Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan were fictional characters. Barely anybody realized that the stories and the people were real. That was fine for Dick. He had put off writing this story. It was both the most magical and most painful experience of his life. It had started off regularly enough. Back when he and Gar had just left Gotham to pick up a less hectic life.

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Roland Wand was a track star. He had been a genius runner in high school, ran professionally in college, and had taken a silver medal at the 2000 Sydney Olympics for his performance in the 1500-meter race. Mr. Wand was currently walking out of a coffee shop with a steaming Styrofoam cup of Jo in one hand and a paper bag with a freshly baked glazed doughnut in the other. 

It was bright and warm out. There was a light breeze but other than that there was nothing to indicate the quickly approaching winter season. For the second Tuesday in autumn this was nice. Only a few wisps of white dared to dance against the otherwise uniform blue above Gotham City. If you went downtown you'd doubtlessly have seen factories spewing green fumes into the air, guaranteeing that the next generation on the planet got to suffer from Global Warming and a poisoned air and water supply.

As Roland continued his usual morning walk to pick up the paper he took in all the glory that was Gotham City. Some parts might not have been too glamorous but it was his home. Why he walked to get the paper when he had enough money to have it delivered was anyone's guess but there were just some things that needed to be constant in life. For Mr. Wand, walking to get the paper was one of these constants.

A light blue van pulled up next to the curb after the light turned red. Roland was pretty close and saw as one of the side doors was pulled open. Next, he saw a woman who looked to be about twenty-four; granted, he'd never been good at guessing people's ages. Woman were especially hard nowadays with all the cosmetics and surgeries that existed to keep them looking young.

The woman didn't step out of the van. Instead, she twisted around as if the driver was speaking to her. The door wasn't one of those automatic child-safe contraptions but was an older model, using wheels like they had in the good old days. The way the woman was turned gave a very nice view of her profile. Now Roland was into females. Almost too into them if that was possible. By his expert opinion those had to be 38C at the least.

Any other predatory and sexually related observations Roland might have made were cut off when he was tackled from behind. He had been maybe three or four feet from the van and the distance was closed in no time. The woman jerked to the side, allowing Roland and his attacker to fly into the van. Roland distantly heard the woman shout "Drive!"

The car gunned forward, the engine making it's protest known. The door slid forward on it's wheels and slammed shut. What happened next was a blur for Roland. He was punched, kicked, and stripped of everything – this included valuables and clothes. Images were indistinct and hard to make out, as if his eyes had decided to stop working and were only active some of the time. Fade in, fade out, fade in, fade out.

A sharp pain met his arm. He tried to jerk it away but found he couldn't. Somehow he'd gotten tied up or pinned. Another sharp jolt of pain, this time on his left quad. Another and another on and on until Roland Wand lost consciousness, permanently.

* * *

"This is just fucking great!" A man dressed in a police uniform yelled to the sky. Captain Edward Coven was well known for his explosive temper and even if the team around him knew he wasn't angry with them each and every one jumped after the man's outburst. 

The Captain's anger was understandable. They were, after all, dealing with the dead body of a celebrity. The identification had just come in about a minute ago and the police autopsy team now knew that the naked Caucasian that had been found inside Gotham Park's fountain was Roland Wand, the Olympic Silver medallist.

The man's body was already stiff due to rigor mortis. The usually well kept sandy blonde hair looked like a nest of thatch. All over the man's body there were small plastic canisters that were attached by hypothermic needles. When the body had been found the capsules hadn't all been empty and because of this the knowledge that every one of them was a controlled release stimulant had been easy to obtain.

Apparently, the killers had a sense of humor. Roland Wand had been accused of stimulant use a few times but nothing had ever been proven. The verdict was out on the accusations: if Roland Wand had actually used stimulants he would have still been alive.

Captain Coven felt useless and so instead wandered around looking at what everyone else was doing. His first day as a Captain and this had to happen. The man was of a unique ethnicity, Italian with a mix of Celtic thrown in for good measure. His facial features were sharp because of the blend. Not unpleasantly sharp but he always looked as if he was on his guard.

Mentally preparing himself, Coven decided that there was no other option. He hated having to do this but they were going to need help on this case. Pulling a cell-phone out of his pocket, Coven hit the one button. It was sad, really, that these guys were his first call instead of the police station via his radio. It was also pretty sad that these people were on speed dial. The police force in Gotham City should have been able to handle this. No, they couldn't even do that. Even with the elusive Batman downtown and these boys up here they had there hands and feet full.

After four rings the receiver picked up. "Hello, you've reached Logan and Grayson."

"Logan," Coven started, trying to figure out just how to say what he needed to.

"If you're listening to this recording you're a little too late." Garfield Logan's recorded voice continued sounding delighted.

Coven vented another colorful string of curses while the recording continued. "My partner and I are going on an indefinite vacation. Meaning we may not ever be coming back! Ha! Take that! Clean up your own messes because I'm out of here, baby!"

The recording continued with Garfield's voice throwing taunts at his caller. Finally, the boy's farewell message was mercifully stopped when the other member of Logan and Grayson broke in, obviously just finding out what his associate had been doing. "Garfield!"

"Dude, Garfield is a cat obsessed with lasagna. Do I look like a cat? I didn't think so…" there was a beeping sound indicating that a message could now be left. Either Grayson had stopped the recording or Logan had used up all the time that was allotted for pre-recorded messages. Coven hung up without bothering to say anything. For this case, the Gotham City Police Department was on its own.

It was true; Garfield Logan and Richard Grayson had pulled their junk together the previous Sunday and headed out. Gotham was a hive for scum and villainy. They had originally been P.I.'s, private investigators, but as time went on they basically became an extension of the Gotham Police. Underpaid as it was. There was too much going on in Gotham and both Logan and Grayson were done with it. It was time to move on. They were currently en-route to Jump City, California. In retrospect, it may have been better for everyone if they had stayed in Gotham.

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**Next Update At The Latest**: Friday, June 23, 2006

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	2. The Office

Thank you to my reviewers and silent readers that, hopefully, will continue to monitor the progress of this story. Remember, reviews make me feel fuzzy and can help me improve my writing. Enjoy the post and please speak up.

**Disclaimer**: Balkoth owns every single aspect of the plot of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. The only reason I can say this so confidentally is that this is, as far as I can tell, an original AU. I'm borrowing the characters that appear in the popular animated series (which was foolishly canceled) and comics known as the Teen Titans.

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The Office

Richard Grayson had just pulled his car into the parking lot of a large, multi-office building constructed of ancient brick. To call it his car wouldn't be fair though. Garfield and Richard shared the small blue convertible. On a nice day, the top would be down while the vehicle sped along the freeway. It was autumn, so the top was sealed tightly.

It was a good thing that the trip was finally over because Richard was ready to strangle his partner. He was still annoyed about the message Garfield had left the police, though not enough to change it. Garfield's voice add to the list of reasons that would make murder acceptable in this select case. Garfield couldn't sing to save his life and for the past three hours Richard had endured a raucous single-man chorus of one thousand bottles of soymilk on the wall. Luckily, Garfield had gotten tired and stopped – at negative twenty-three!

Garfield was out of the car before the engine had even been cut. Stretching his arms high above his head, he arched his back until it was against the car's roof and worked all the stiffness out of his joints. Garfield was in shape with a sculpted form of lean muscle. He looked like the average twenty-one year old who didn't get enough food or exercise but he was very healthy and much stronger then he looked. Garfield was naturally tan with a skin-tone obtained by many through use of artificial tanning beds.

Richard killed the engine and got out of the car as well. The building they were currently parked next to was going to be their temporary office. There had been some spare office space on the sixth floor and it had rented out pretty cheap, probably because of the mold in the walls and the leaks in the roof.

Garfield had spent some time, both in Gotham and on the ride to Jump, saying that they shouldn't open up an office while they were on vacation but Richard would have none of it. They weren't on vacation; they were just visiting a less crazy city. Still, Garfield was a good investigator. One thing that made him so good was how unrelenting he was. Thus, he tried to dissuade Richard, yet again, about setting up.

"Come on Dick, we don't even know if we're going to be here that long. Let's just take some time to look around and relax," Garfield attempted the gentle approach while running an olive hand through his short straw-colored hair. That wasn't going to work with Richard. It might work with little old ladies. Never with Richard. That was an interesting dynamic in the relationship between the two. They had the good cop and bad cop routine down perfectly. Richard, being the bad cop, wasn't easily swayed when he set out for something. Garfield, being the good cop, always tried to be nice and polite, a set of traits that was wasted when dealing with Richard. That gave the impression that Richard was the leader. The impression was false: they were partners, both equal in power and salary.

"Sorry Gar," Richard responded while running his own pale hand along his brow and through his messy black bangs. It was one of the many habits that the two shared: the consequence of spending too much time with each other. Richard shrugged once and pressed a button attached to his key ring that popped the trunk open. "We're going to have to at least set up the office by five or we lose our deposit."

Richard could tell that Garfield didn't believe him but he still went around to the back of the car to help unload. Even if Garfield didn't believe him, over the years Richard had learned a golden rule of thumb when dealing with Garfield. They were private investigators, excellent at what they did, and never had two nickels to rub together. If there was even a small chance that their deposit would get lost Garfield would cooperate. Once he found out he had been lied to he wouldn't leave it alone. Hopefully, it would be a few days before he figured it out. Richard doubted he would get that lucky.

"So what floor are we on?" Garfield asked while piling as much stuff into his arms and under his armpits as he could. If it was possible, he was not going to make a second trip.

"Sixth floor, thirteenth door on the right," Richard answered while simultaneously taking delicate equipment out of Garfield's stuffed arms and placing them in a cardboard box that was further in the back of the trunk.

Garfield noticed this and started putting stuff into the box as well. "You could have told me you had a box," he mumbled, mostly to himself. He was feeling a little stupid right about now and Richard could tell. There were some perks to having Garfield around, entertainment value included.

They managed to get everything into the single box, mainly due to some… creative… packing improvisations on Garfield's part. Richard hadn't known that it was that easy to take apart a police scanner. What remained to be seen was if Garfield knew how to put the scanner back together. For some reason, Richard was preparing himself to try and get another police scanner.

The elevator was old and clanky with one of its overhead lights winking at them as it carried them higher and higher. The entire time that they were going up Richard felt uneasy and made a silent vow right then that he would never use the elevator in this building ever again. Richard wasn't what you would call an acrophobic. That title implied a fear of heights. Richard had no problem with heights. What Richard didn't like was falling. He was terrified of falling. It wasn't even falling that bothered him that much. The impact once the fall was over, that was another issue entirely. The elevator was groaning a little too much and a little too loudly for Richard's comfort. He would take the stairs in the future.

Finally, the elevator clanged to a stop and the doors squealed opened, letting Richard and Garfield off onto the sixth floor. Garfield exited quickly and made a sharp right, Richard close behind. "One, two, three, four," Richard heard as Garfield counted off the doors they were passing. He had chosen their office space special for Garfield. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Garfield had no doubt just seen the room number. For their stay in Jump City Logan and Grayson would be operating out of room 666 of the old office building on Hellion Way. Garfield obviously didn't find it that funny. That's what made it so great for Richard.

The office was set up quickly enough, they didn't exactly have that much to unpack and place. Richard was trying to fit the police scanner back together. Garfield might have taken the machine apart but when asked to put it back together it became apparent that actually getting him to fix the machine could easily result in bodily harm for everyone in a one-mile radius.

While Richard was putting pieces together experimentally, like he was testing the fit of a puzzle piece, Garfield was going around the office and familiarizing himself with the room. More specifically, he was familiarizing himself with the view out the window. There was a beach quite literally within a half-mile walk of the building and the extra height granted by being on the sixth floor gave a great view of the ocean. Sure it was too cold to go swimming now but with any small amount of luck they would still be on their vacation come summer.

"Gar, could you set up the answering machine?" Richard asked distantly, as he proved to himself that even if the two pieces he was holding didn't fit on the first try they most definitely went together. They were currently fitting after all.

"No problemo," Garfield said while turning his back to the window.

"Make sure it's not like the Gotham message," Richard instructed while pushing two wires together. He was holding a green and a yellow wire. There were a lot of red wires but he knew better then to touch them. The red wires were the ones that caused explosions, right?

Garfield started laughing quietly and in no time was on the ground clutching his sides as the memory of the Gotham message surfaced in his mind. "Come on dude," he broke down into another fit of laughter, "you know that was hilarious." Garfield swiped a finger along the edges of his left eye to dislodge any tears that might have formed. Richard didn't respond. He couldn't. Not honestly at any rate.

While Richard continued to 'repair' the police scanner Garfield walked over to the message box and hit the record button. "Hello, you've reached Logan and Grayson: Private Investigators Extraordinaire. Sorry, but we're out at the moment. If you could leave us your name and number we'll get back to you as soon as humanly possible." Garfield hit the button a second time and the recording stopped.

They had left Gotham to get away from all the crap that showed up in the city. They had gone to Jump City because it promised to be a quiet and relatively peaceful place, while at the same time leaving them with a little work that could put bread on the table. The message Garfield had left was going to be heard again and again in the near future. So much for peaceful.

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**Next Update At The Latest:** Wednesday, June 28, 2006  
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	3. The Raven

Hey everybody. Good to see you again. In this post we look a little at a certain character that will start to play a more active role in the future. A few notes for those of you that decided to come back to this story. First, thank you, especially to those that reviewed. Second, if your the type that likes instant gratification, give me a little time with this story. My beginnings are a little slow but they pick up eventually. Remember, if you read it drop me a little line about what's good, what's bad, and what type of peanut butter you like.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans.

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The Raven

Nobody in their right mind would have assumed she was a thief. That was what made her so good at it. She was twenty-two and in the best shape of her life, both in mind and body. Rachel Roth was currently walking around the basement floor of one of Jump City's so called 'secure' storehouses. Technically, Rachel wasn't even there: The Raven was. The security in the building was laughable. There were a few cameras, a single security guard who might or might not be asleep, and a standard three-combination safe when those failed.

A little known secret of Rachel's was that she was very interested in demons. The whole idea behind Heaven, Hell, fallen angels, and other such subjects fascinated her. She had been six when she discovered books. Rachel has started reading mythology when she was seven. Rachel's mother had fueled her daughter's newfound love of literature with new books she picked up and by showing an active enthusiasm for her daughter's growing hobby.

The strange tales of different gods, all vying for extra power or lovers, gods or otherwise, held a mysterious appeal to her. Rachel dismissed the possibility of a single, all-powerful, merciful God a little less than four months after she discovered mythology. If her mother had survived the car-crash Rachel might have stayed true to her childhood faith, but her mother hadn't lived. Arella had been a wonderful person who should have lived many more happy years. Instead, she ended up an exploded mass of so much mangled tissue and bodily fluid in the middle of the road. Polytheism just made more sense. An all-powerful God wouldn't let the world be the way it was.

A God described by the Bible, the Torah, or the Koran wouldn't have let her mother die. If there were different gods, each with different abilities and degrees of power, then her mother's death could be explained. There could have been a conflict that distracted her mother's guardians just long enough for the crash to happen.

After mythology came Rachel's interest in demonology. It was that interest that had led her to discover Satan, Jeearr, Nathrezim, and finally Scath. Scath was only a code name though. Most people only recognized Scath as Trigon, the root of all evil. With a surface discovery of these monsters Rachel had also discovered a part of herself. Who was to say that gods were the ones that deserved worship, especially when they had proved time and time again that they were incapable of doing anyone any good?

Rachel Roth was a member of the Brother's Blood, an underground cult that worshiped Trigon. Rachel wasn't much for worshipping Trigon, she wasn't that stupid, but she had been promised answers by the cult's leadership. Above all else, Rachel wanted answers. The real reason that Rachel was sneaking into the 'secure' storehouse was so that she could get her hands on the gem. The gem in question was a small red stone the size of a marble. Rachel currently had a replacement stone clutched in her right hand. Alone the gem was useless but she would get the rest sooner or later.

Rachel had come through the front door and even taken a doughnut from a slumbering security officer's box of glazed delicacies. Nobody would recognize her if they saw the security footage. This was mainly due to the blue cloak she was wearing. The heavy blue fabric was fastened at the base of her neck by a blood red clasp with a raven inside. Rachel had made sure she was always clutching the inside of the cloak so that it was closed. The garb covered every inch of her body, with the exception of the lower half of her face starting just under her nose. The result was a sweeping blue figure with extremely pale, yet beautifully milky, skin and piercing violet eyes that reached out from the shadows of the hood covering its head.

At long last, Rachel arrived at the safe she was looking for. A camera was positioned to see the safe and when Rachel approached she was careful to avoid giving the lens a chance to see her directly. Her face might have been obscured by the deep shadows of her hood but anything could be done nowadays with a computer: five minutes in Adobe's PhotoShop and the shadows would disappear.

The safe was easy enough to crack open. She had been able to feel the cogs falling into place. The heavy lead-lined door of the antique safe swung open at Rachel's touch and the contents lay bare for her to take. Before Rachel rested shimmering pieces of jewelry, each sparkling with not only it's own light but also the fire that erupted in the heart of every creature that caught a glimpse of the priceless ornaments. Rachel didn't even spare those a second glance.

On the security tape that was replayed once the theft was discovered, the viewers watched as a figure dressed in a heavy blue cloak reached in and took a small blue velvet box from the safe's interior. The figure then reached into the safe with the other hand and put something in the box's place. After that the cloaked figure walked away, not even bothering to close the safe behind it.

The thing that the cloaked figure had dropped off was currently in the Jump City forensics lab being tested for prints and DNA. The object was small and red. An exact replica of the gem that was stolen, save for one difference. Inside the gem there was a black bird. As it would later be determined – a raven.

There were three people currently watching the security footage. One of them was the storehouse's chief of security, a man whose skinny pale face had long lost the ability to show any emotion other than varying degrees of anger. Another was the guard who would probably be loosing a job when this was all settled, and finally a behavioral analyst who had been called in by the local police. She was playing and replaying the tape for analysis under her critical brown eyes. Eyes that missed nothing, or so her reputation announced with a great deal of certainty.

The guard from the previous night had the common sense to stay quiet and out of the way. As long as he managed to make his rosy bulk of a face look ashamed enough, he might be allowed to keep his job. It was a faint hope but he clung to it with every ounce of his willpower.

"What have you figured out?" the chief of security demanded of the woman playing and replaying the footage. The woman didn't respond for a while as she played the tape again from the beginning. The footage showed the cloaked thief taking a doughnut from the security booth. That pretty much destroyed the glimmer of hope that had been floating in the guard's mind.

"You sent this to some of your tech boys?" The woman asked in a clipped tone that hinted at an ill concealed mocking. She rewound the tape and played the part where the thief had cracked the safe open again while waiting for a response.

"Sure did. Vic is a master of the trade. Give him three minutes and we'll have a clear picture of this person."

"I doubt it," the woman muttered as the tape played again before her eyes. All she had been able to gather during the time that she'd studied the tape had been that the person was looking for something very specific, knew the security layout, and intentionally avoided looking toward the cameras, and that, more likely then not, the person had already known the safe's combination.

"What was that?" the chief snapped, after hearing the woman talking to herself.

Thinking quickly she said; "This person already knew the combination. They didn't even bother pressing their ear to the safe or anything."

Now it was the security chief's turn to think quickly. He knew that the safe in question was actually an ancient excuse for security that was so old that you could hear the cogs falling into place. Unfortunately for him, his quick mind wasn't what had gotten him his job. Instead of trying to say anything he changed the subject, blatantly. "What do you know about them? Gender, age, weight, don't you get paid to figure that kind of thing out?"

The woman was unfazed by the outburst. She specialized in interrogation tapes, not security footage. If you wanted her to tell you when somebody was holding back or lying she could tell you easily, that was why she knew that the safe subject made the chief nervous. "With that cloak I can't say anything for certain. On a guess, you're looking for a female about 5'6" between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five."

"Weight?"

Tired of seeing the footage the woman turned off the VCR. "No clue. If it helps, she seems to like ravens." So it was that The Raven was born.

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**Next Update At The Latest**: Wednesday, July 5, 2006

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	4. Another Job

Okay. Thank you so much to my reviewers and returning readers. My beta reader decided to get a life and go on something called a vacation so this one may have a few more wrinkles than usual. Enjoy,

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own Teen Titans. I've tried but, for some reason, they're not for sale. Balkoth does own the plot of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. If you like what you see, tell me.

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Another Job

Twenty-four year old Richard Grayson was currently sitting in his car. Not the best way to spend a Wednesday afternoon but Richard made due. The heater worked it's magic on the confines of the convertible while Richard waited. The keys were hanging in the ignition. Richard couldn't do his job until Garfield showed up. That could take a while.

To pass the time, Richard pulled a faded piece of paper from his pocket. A newspaper article featuring someone who the town had named 'The Raven.' A thief – and one who was evading capture very well. The person had only stolen once to date but the title 'The Raven' wasn't genius design: it came straight from the calling card that had been left behind. A calling card usually indicated an encore performance.

Garfield had pointed out earlier, as if it was an every-day occurrence, that Richard was becoming obsessive. It was a trait that had been rather prevalent in Gotham and was showing no signs of abating now that they had arrived in Jump City. Richard had read and re-read the article so many times that the cheap printing ink was starting to bleed and fade.

Richard had been looking for some clue. There was obviously something that was being overlooked. There had to be; there always was. Richard would have pursued the issue on his own time but that was before Garfield landed them their first case in Jump City. That had led to his current position in the car.

Mrs. Anders had approached Logan and Grayson with a case of stalking. Kori Anders, her little girl, a cheerful redhead of eleven, had noticed on six different occasions that her school bus was being followed. At Kori's stop, the tail would veer off and pass her as she finished walking home. Never the same car, Kori had said when asked. Best case scenario: coincidence. Worst case scenario: a pedophile intent on intercepting Kori in the future. That last one was why Logan and Grayson were on stakeout duty. The first step was to find out what they were dealing with. The second – well, that depended on what they were dealing with.

Richard sighed impatiently as he folded the paper back up. His hand was halfway to his pocket before Richard changed his mind and unfolded the article again. In the back of his mind, Richard knew that this type of behavior wasn't healthy. With another, more powerful, part of his mind, Richard decided he didn't care.

A short interview with the security staff, a statement by the JCPD – Jump City Police Department – and an outline of what had happened as seen by security cameras. The article was a small little thing, bordering on almost an eighth of a page, barely a blip on the radar in average Jump City life. Nobody cared about this, not yet. Not until it was too late.

Static sounded in the car, jolting Richard from his private musings. Richard found the source of the sound instantly and then was very glad that the cause of the transmission hadn't been able to see his reaction. Garfield just had a way of capitalizing on small things until you wanted to shoot yourself.

Richard removed his right hand from where it had come to rest after darting, on muscle memory alone, to the small caliber pistol he always carried. "Report," Richard said while simultaneously picking up the hand-held radio and opening a secure channel.

"Why," Garfield's voice was loud and desperately empty all at once, "did we decide _I_ was going to replace the bus driver today?"

"Because," Richard stated lightly, "I'm better at tracking people than you are."

"Come on," Garfield interrupted, obviously knowing where this conversation was going before it truly started and not liking the direction one bit, "that was a single time! I've gotten better, I swear."

Richard kept on talking, having practiced every line in the event that this argument came up. "The Moxley case should have told you that much."

"One time," Garfield muttered. The sound of retching could be heard over the radio and Richard allowed a shred of sympathy to reach out to the kids Garfield was driving home. Garfield couldn't drive to save his life. Well, not technically. In the Moxley case his inability to drive _had_ savedhis life.

"Also," Richard continued, "you refuse to carry a firearm. Firefights are less likely to take place around large groups of people, especially children. If you were following this guy and got caught," _as you undoubtedly would,_ Richard added to himself, "all you would be able to do would be to smile and hope he was in a good mood."

"Hey!" Garfield cut in, confident that he had found a flaw in Richard's argument, "smiling and hoping that the other guys were in a good mood saved my skin with the Drake thing! If I'd been armed they would have shot me on the spot."

"You're right, Gar." Richard conceded defeat, it would make what came next all the more powerful, "instead they decided to kill you slowly. If I hadn't showed up when I did you'd have died anyway."

"Well," Garfield's voice went up a notch, he was thinking hard, "you wouldn't have had the opportunity to save me if I'd been armed. They wouldn't have underestimated me."

Richard decided to drop the subject. There was no point in continuing this argument, not while they were on a job. "Which cars have been following you?" Richard twisted the keys until the engine emitted a muffled roar. The radios had a limited transmission range. If Garfield was close enough to complain and for Richard to hear it then it was time to move out.

"Okay dude," Garfield fell into his more professional role, the part of him that was a private investigator. The other part was a little kid that refused to grow up. "We've got three possible targets."

Richard popped the glove compartment open and snatched a pen and a notebook from where they always resided: right next to the half-eaten bag of puffy Cheetos. "Talk to me," he said while flipping to an empty page. The notes often helped Richard when it came to the smaller details of a case. They became priceless when Richard started his writing career.

"Right," Garfield continued, "there's a black bug that's been following us for a little over seven miles. They've turned off a few times but always decided to come back. There's a royal purple rental that's been on my bumper for the past five miles, and an ancient looking minivan that's shedding its paint. It might have been red once but it's hard to say."

Richard weighted each car instantly, without thinking. The car that was shedding its paint was too obvious and easy to follow. The black bug seemed the most likely but when Richard spoke it was to say, "I'm going to tail the purple one. Drop Anders off last, just in case I'm wrong."

"Kori," Garfield's protest on how to address the girl fell on an empty frequency. Richard had cut communications. It was a personal thing for him. People were always called by their last names. For the first three months of Logan and Grayson, Richard had always called Garfield by his last name. Never Garfield and certainly not something as familiar as Gar. Then Garfield had taken a bullet for him and the walls had collapsed. Kori was Anders to him. Their old enemy and almost murderer was Moxley, not Drake. It was a personal choice. First names made Richard uncomfortable.

Richard switched on his turn signal and pulled out two hundred meters behind the purple car. Keeping his distance, Richard followed the car until it switched lanes. If it continued with its course the car would end up in the downtown area. Richard hesitated for a fraction of a second before following. Richard had a sixth sense when it came to this kind of thing. A certain feel for when something was out of place. The car shouldn't be heading that way, not if it was following the bus, but he _knew_ that something was up with the purple car.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Richard found himself in a barely traveled street. The purple car was parked outside of some sort of literary club. A poetry club. His target wouldn't likely be here.

The car door opened and a woman stepped out. That threw out the stalker idea right away. As a general rule, woman did not commit rape and, if they did, not on other females. It might happen in isolated cases but Richard had never come across it. Still, he felt like that woman was dangerous.

Richard drove past, ignoring his sixth sense for one of the only times in his life. On the floor of the car the article on The Raven was temporarily forgotten. It hadn't moved since Richard had dropped it when Garfield had called.

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**Next Update At The Latest**: Wednesday, July 12, 2006

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	5. The Club: Part I

Welcome back. This part of the story is divided into two posts. I wanted to keep the lenght of the posts uniform but I've been training myself to write more for future stories and the short story I keep telling myself I'll submit for publication by the end of the summer. Once I started I couldn't stop. My beta is still off and enjoying summer so, as with last week, maybe a couple of wrinkles. Tried to weed them out but grammar, not my thing. Enjoy and review.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. Balkoth is borrowing them. Balkoth does own Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters._  
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The Club Part I_  
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_BANG_

_BANG_

_BANG_

"Dude, if you don't stop doing that you're gonna drive everyone in the building crazy," Garfield half-heartedly tried to stop Richard from his usual 'I messed up' ritual. Garfield was playing solitaire, a habit of his when he was thinking. Richard's method was a little less constructive. That's saying something since Garfield was only playing solitaire.

_BANG_

Richard didn't hear Garfield or didn't care. Either way, he was still slamming his head rhythmically onto his desk.

"Dick," another slam on the table, "stop beating yourself up over this." Richard lifted his head enough to look at Garfield. Even through the reflective blue sunglasses that Richard usually wore, it was obvious that he was mustering up the most venomous glare in his arsenal.

"Why," Richard hissed through clenched teeth, "would I not want to beat myself up over this?" His voice slowly started to rise as Richard continued; "I made the wrong call, Gar, and the guy we were looking for got away."

"So? We'll get him next time."

"There might not have been a next time!" Richard exploded. He didn't remember standing up but he was on his feet, hands slammed on the desk, daring his partner to try and calm him down.

"You know what your problem is, Dick?" Garfield didn't pause for a response; it wasn't really a question. "You think too much. Let's stop playing the game of what-if for just one second."

"He could have made his move today but he didn't," Garfield said. "We'll get him next time. You made a mistake. So what? If I impounded my head every time _I_ made a mistake, you would need a new partner." Garfield smiled lightly as he laughed at his own brand of humor.

"Gar," Richard's temper ebbed a little. Garfield was one of the few people alive that could talk him down from where ever he went once things started going downhill. "Ander's could have been raped today because of me."

"You know Dick, I never thought of it that way." Garfield tilted his chair back until he was balanced on two wooden legs. Propping his own feet on his desk, Garfield put a finger to his chin and started tapping insistently. Richard mirrored the nervous habit by starting to pace in tight circles in time with the rhythm that Garfield had set. "Maybe," Garfield whispered after a few seconds, "maybe," this time a little louder. Finally, Garfield's voice reached its normal volume. "Maybe you should just toss yourself out the window. I mean, really, you're such a horrible human being Dick. How could you make such an amateur mistake?"

Garfield had stopped tapping his chin and was now addressing Richard in a tone that conveyed the feeling of oh, you poor thing. Richard didn't appreciate that, at least not enough to overlook it. Richard stopped his pacing just long enough to sweep the legs out from under Garfield's chair. He was pacing again before Garfield had even hit the floor.

With a crash, Garfield toppled backward and slammed onto the floor. "So," he said while trying to hear himself over the sudden ringing in his ears, "you in a better mood?"

Richard didn't respond but a slight curve started to creep up his narrow lips. Richard didn't let his change in demeanor show openly. Garfield had made him feel better, that was true, but this kind of slip wasn't something to take lightly. Not like Garfield would ever agree with him about that.

"Now then," Garfield finally hoisted himself off of the floor, a spider trailing off of his sleeve, "how about we go have some fun?" As he said this Garfield used his index finger to sever the line of spider silk and lower the flailing animal to the office floor. Garfield had a big thing with animals. Even insects and snakes he treated as if they were people. Richard had owned a flyswatter for a week after meeting Garfield. It had only lasted a week. The flyswatter had never been replaced.

"What did you have in mind?" As much as Richard might have been disappointed with the way things had turned out today he was also interested in hitting the town. Usually, Richard stayed in the office while Garfield built up information networks and dug up the best nighttime hangouts. Garfield was the better of the two when it came to dealing with people, after all. They had been in Jump for a while and there was no doubt that Garfield had already memorized a list of the best places to go for a drink or a dance at all hours.

"Well, I was thinking we could hit a nice little club that I was fortunate enough to happen upon the night before last."

"Gar?"

"Yeah Dick?"

"If we're going out anywhere tonight and be seen with each other, you need to lose the Scottish accent."

"Shows what you know," Garfield whined; though fortunately he started sounding like the big city investigator that he really was, "the ladies love the accents. It makes them think that you're exotic, mysterious."

"Delusional?" Richard offered casually.

"Cute Dick. It's a wonder you haven't found a steady girlfriend." The acid dripping off of Garfield's words was hard to ignore. The floor might as well have been deteriorating.

"I haven't gotten a girlfriend because," at this point Garfield added his own voice to the well-known recitation; "I've figured out where my priorities lie."

Garfield kept going after Richard stopped. "Your priorities are eating you alive, man. We are going to a club, I'm not letting you take any work, and you are going to get so drunk that in the morning you'll feel like your brain was sucked out your nose with a vacuum."

Richard shook his head firmly. "We have work tomorrow. I am not going to get wasted over one disappointment only to face another one the next day."

"That's the spirit! See? You've already gotten your edge back. Now," Garfield opened the door and waved his arm in a circle out of the office, "let's go."

The big city lights flashed red, green, blue, and every shade of neon known to man as the blue convertible snailed through late night traffic. "So, Gar, what type of club are we talking about here?" Richard was driving. Garfield had tried for the keys but hadn't gotten them. Thank goodness.

"Oh, you mean _Big Moe's_?"

"If that's where you're giving me directions to, then, yes."

"_Big Moe's_ has got everything you could possibly want from a nightclub."

"A little detail would be nice." Richard pointed out while putting pressure on the gas now that the light had changed.

"Right." Garfield cocked his head to the side and started running his palm over the base of his neck. "Let's see, _Moe's_ has got a huge bar selection. It's a popular hangout for the college students from Jump City University." Garfield jabbed his finger to the street Richard was about to pass, "Turn here. There's a DJ on Friday and Saturday nights and a few more exclusive things in the back."

"How do you mean?"

"Come on Dick, you're an investigator aren't you? The place is named _Big Moe's_!"

"So? A name doesn't mean anything, Gar." Richard said, annoyed at the condescension coming from his partner.

"In this case it does. Place is owned by a guy named Mortimer," Garfield said.

"Well, thanks for clearing that up for me. It's small wonder that you're an investigator." Richard was just as good with poisonous sarcasm as his partner was.

"I'm an investigator because your people skills suck. For all of your observation talents and magic abilities you can't form an information network. That's why I have a job. That, and you like me too much to get rid of me."

"Get to the point Garfield."

Garfield ignored the growled out use of his full name as best as he could. "_Moe's_ has some gambling and some prostitution in the back rooms. It's a perfectly respectable business front for most people but, if you know where to look, you can get into a high-stakes poker game with some of the more powerful individuals in Jump City and surrounding areas."

"Tell me you didn't lose the money we saved to pay for your traffic tickets on a high-stakes poker game against crime lords."

"There were some businessmen there too," Garfield offered helpfully. "'Sides, I lost on purpose to get on their good side."

"Planning for future cases already Gar? How uncharacteristically intelligent of you." The Ander's case wasn't likely to require sources inside the more shady businesses in the city.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't here that." Garfield huffed while crossing his olive arms across his chest. There was a tense pause until Garfield smirked. "You just missed the turn."

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**Next Update:** Wednesday, July 19, 2006

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	6. The Club: Part II

How is everybody's week progressing? Nice and comfy I hope. We're tying a few things together this week. Preparing for a crossing of the ways, in a matter of speaking. I encourage you to enjoy and review.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. Balkoth does not own Big Moe's nor does Balkoth know if Big Moe's actually exists. If any of you live in California, tell me if there is a nightclub called Big Moe's. Balkoth does own Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters however.

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The Club Part II

"Dick, don't be so uppity. We aren't cops; we just work for them every now and then." Garfield tried to get Richard into a less black and white mindset as they approached a large brick building with a flashing blue light display that read _Big Moe's_. Richard hadn't been keen on the idea that this club housed illegal card games and prostitution. He became even less thrilled when he realized that Big Moe, the person, was currently under house arrest and that his nephew was running the club.

"Gar, the place is owned by the mob."

"Well, duh, it is. Like I said – Big Moe's. If the name has big or fat tacked to the front, odds are, they're mobsters." Garfield obviously didn't share Richard's discomfort about getting chummy in a mob facility.

"How long you been coming here?" Richard asked as the door swung open. A blast of sound shot out, nearly taking off Richard's head and doing it's best to blow his eardrums.

The music was mind numbing. A repetitive beat with little or no lyrics that lulled the listeners into a trance. Seconds after entering, Richard and Garfield melted into the crowd. Richard caught himself walking in beat with the music and made a conscious effort from that moment forth to move in opposition of the drums and electric instruments issuing from the speakers installed in the walls.

"Four days." It was barely a whisper; just on the edge of hearing but Richard knew that his partner had just yelled the answer.

As Richard followed Garfield toward the back, he darted his eyes around the club. The mirrored blue lenses covered his wandering eyes and, to an onlooker, Richard was just turning his head a little every now and then.

The music wasn't controlled by anything on this level and the only other level was accessed by a door clearly labeled "EMPLOYEES ONLY". There was a platform about seven meters from the bar that could be used by a DJ on the weekend. The bar itself seemed almost as popular as the dance-floor. Men and woman of all ages, though most were in their late teens or early to mid twenties, clustered around the polished wood. The counter had been dyed purple but that was probably just to hide the multiple liquor stains.

At a first glance, the dance-floor didn't look like a dance-floor so much as something out of a porn video. The movements were liquid-like in quality as couples or strangers that just met slid up, down and around each other. Quite a few were more suggestive then others. All of their faces were flushed a healthy shade of red and most of them looked like they weren't going to remember any of this in the morning.

Richard felt a tug on his elbow and instantly grabbed the hand of whoever touched him in a vice-like grip. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" A voice shouted rapidly. Garfield's voice.

"Sorry," Richard said while letting go of Garfield's hand. It may have only been the flashing lights but Garfield's already tan skin seemed red after Richard released him.

"When I need something amputated I'll tell you Dick." Garfield sounded annoyed, or as annoyed as one can sound when they have to compete with one hundred decibels. "What's with you?"

"Just a little jumpy. You know I don't like being snuck up on." Garfield probably knew better than anybody alive that surprising Richard Grayson was stupid. Richard was naturally jumpy. If he felt threatened he'd act first and maybe ask later. Only maybe though.

"What did you need anyway?" Richard asked, remembering that this whole conversation had started when Garfield tried to get his attention.

"What?" Obviously, Garfield hadn't been able to remain as focused as his partner. "Oh," Garfield jabbed his thumb behind him, "through that door there are a few contacts I've been developing." Richard just gave Garfield a non-plused look as if to say _So what did you need?_

"I thought I'd introduce you. If you've got your gun, you won't be allowed in the back." Richard didn't see the point in Garfield bothering to check if he was carrying his gun. He always was.

Garfield reached out his hand and knocked five times on an unmarked wood door. Almost immediately, the door opened and a large black man with a classic heart tattoo with the word 'Mom' printed in it ushered them inside.

"Hey Taylor, it's good to see you again," Garfield called jovially to the mountain of muscle.

"Oy, how's it going G?" The mass of steroid-enhanced flesh responded while shaking Garfield's shoulder in what was supposed to be a friendly manner but was actually rather rough.

"Same ol' same ol', man. You got Bobby in there?" It was only then that Richard realized that they weren't in a separate room. This was just an enclosed little hallway of six feet without windows and only two doors. A death trap.

"Yeah, B came in just an hour ago nursing some Irish whisky and throwing hundreds 'round like they grew on trees." Richard thought about pointing out that money did grow on trees but then, he re-thought.

"Sounds like a good night for me to cash in on my loosing streak. All my luck had to go somewhere, right?" Garfield laughed as he lightly punched Taylor in the arm. Taylor acted like he hadn't felt it. Maybe he hadn't.

"If you're gonna start winning, now'd be the night to do it all right." Taylor looked past Garfield and finally noticed Richard. "Who's the dick?"

Who's the dick? Richard thought about the question and decided it made no sense. Most people called him Dick, so at first he'd thought Taylor was talking to him. If Taylor was talking to him why did he ask who he was talking to?

"Taylor," Garfield's voice cut through Richard's thoughts and prevented him from saying anything, "this is the twenty-first century, man. What was that? Slang out of the seventies?" Taylor shrugged lightly. Richard, for his part, felt like hitting himself on the head. Dick had been slang to refer to police. Usually crooked police at that.

"Taylor," Garfield said while gesturing toward Richard, "I'd like you to meet my friend, Dick Grayson."

"Didn't know you'd bring any under-cover cops here, Gar. The boss won't like that." Garfield and Richard exchanged nonchalant glances; surprised by the conclusion that the large black man was drawing. It was wrong but close enough to the truth that seeing a person stereotyped as all brawn and no brains was alarming. "Guy's got a standard issue nine millimeter holstered at his hip, covered by his coat. To be honest, the sunglasses are the biggest give-away. Its night and we're inside." Taylor elaborated, catching the glance the two shared. He was smiling though; not offended at all by what the investigators had thought of his mental capacities. In his job, being underestimated was probably a good thing.

"Oh, no." Garfield shook his head once. "Taylor, this is my partner."

"Oh? From Logan and Grayson? Nice to meet you, Dick." Taylor extended a spade-sized hand to Richard, which was shaken hesitantly. "Can't let you in there armed though."

Richard was ready to start a fight over the matter. He always carried his gun and nobody disarmed him. Ever. Garfield cut in before this got out of hand. "You know what, I just wanted to show Dick around a little. I'll go in alone, check for weapons if you want to. Dick, you should wait outside until I'm done in here." Richard nodded slowly.

Garfield could make contacts without help: he always had before. Still, if Garfield knew Richard wouldn't be allowed, why had he dragged him here? The answer was simple, Garfield had meant to strand him at a club for an hour or two. His partner was trying to hook Richard up without being too obvious. Too bad he overlooked Richard's common sense and analytical abilities.

Richard exited back into the club and was once again assaulted by sound. Garfield went through to the other room. Now, what was he going to do for the next few hours? One thing was certain: drinking, dancing, or picking up a girl was not an option.

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**Next Update: **Wednesday, July 26, 2006  
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	7. Rachel Roth

Right-o! Welcome one and all to the weekly installment of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. I would like to take the time now to extend my eternal gratitude to my readers and reviewers. The feedback that you have all offered is fantastic! The warm fuzzy feelings are due to your acknowledgement that this story exists and the time you have taken to let me know what you think. If you're reading this story, I really do encourage you to speak up about what you enjoy and what you think isn't so great.

**Disclaimer:** Do I have to say it? You're all bright people.

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Rachel Roth

Rachel Roth had known it was going to be one of those days where, by noon, she would wish she had just stayed in bed. Seven thirty sharp, Rachel had been jarred from her dreams by a rapping on the door. It was the first week of October and rent was collected on the first day of every month. Unfortunately, Rachel was having a few financial difficulties, so she had been dodging the landlord for the past three days.

"Come on Roth! I know you're in there!" More hammering on the door. The landlord, Mr. Taloose, was a pudgy man with a shiny sheen over his hairless head that caused many to speculate that he used a floor-waxer on it. Taloose resembled a squirrel with one too many nuts crammed into its mouth. In fact, everything about the man screamed small furry rodent, but without the redeeming cuteness factor.

Rachel was pulling on her shoes as Taloose was yelling. For all of his pretended certainty, Taloose had no proof that Rachel was actually in her room. There was a fire escape right outside Rachel's window and for the past two mornings, she'd been climbing down the rusted metal ladders to get out of the building.

As Rachel clambered out the window, she heard something slide into the lock. Rachel slammed the window behind her and jumped down the first mini-ladder onto the landing below. The trouble with avoiding the landlord was that they usually knew the building just as well, if not better, than their tenants did. They also had a key to every room in the building.

"Buenos dias, Raquel," Rachel felt like her heart had just stopped.

"Christ Miguel! You scared me half to death." Rachel hissed at the open window behind her. Miguel was one of Rachel's few friends in the apartment.

"Good to see you too. Would you like to come in for some coffee?" The Hispanic teen asked while moving around his cramped kitchen. Miguel was nineteen and living in the apartment alone. He had some sort of problem with his father. Rachel hadn't pried.

"I can't. Taloose just broke into my room and there's no telling where he's going to check next."

"Ah," Miguel sighed knowingly, "the never ending battle between a landlord and their reluctant tenants."

Rachel didn't bother dignifying that with a response. "Look," Rachel said, "I need to get down to the street but Taloose has a view of the fire escape if he's still in my room."

"And?" Miguel rubbed a bug bite on his arm while pouring himself a mug of black coffee.

"I could use some cover." Rachel flattened herself against the building wall when she caught movement up from the direction of her window. It was only a blue jay.

"You can never be too careful," Miguel laughed from behind Rachel, "those blue birds are a tricky breed."

"Will you help me or not?" Rachel turned to face the window. Her annoyance was getting the best of her, an occurrence that Miguel always found amusing.

"Si, si," Miguel's deep brown eyes continued to sparkle as he stepped outside of his room. A crash could be heard a little later. Miguel had probably broken the yellow flower vase outside Jean's room. She had a pet pig so getting Taloose to believe that it had been an accident wouldn't be hard. Unfortunately, for Jean and her pig, if Taloose got his way, breakfast tomorrow might come with a side of bacon. Rachel was down the fire escape just as Taloose's shouts threw the first shingles off of the dilapidated roof.

Work hadn't been any better. One of the drones from Brother's Blood had the gall to walk into her shop and start a conversation with her. Blood was getting impatient and wanted the artifacts she had been charged with retrieving, immediately. When Rachel had asked for a little of what she had been promised in exchange for what she already had, she'd been told all or nothing.

So, The Raven had struck again. Another poorly guarded safe house, another security guard who was going to get fired because of her, another safe. Finally, The Raven had left with a package wrapped in plain brown paper. It looked like an umbrella, but in actuality, it was a pillar of granite about three billion years old with flecks of red, blue and green sprinkled throughout. There was an indent in the top where it looked like something could be screwed in.

The granite was about eight inches tall and had a three-inch square base. There were miniature stairs on the artifact, small enough to be used by an ant. The stairs moved in a gentle spiral up to the top of the artifact. In place of the granite pillar, The Raven had left a granite slab of the same general dimensions that she had picked up off the ground. Where there was an indent on the original, the replacement had a painted black raven.

Rachel had then driven toward her apartment, dressed in civilian clothes with her cloak secured under her seat. She would have just gone home and slept until she remembered that Taloose was probably sitting on her bed, grubby hands outstretched for a check Rachel couldn't pay. Rachel turned her car around and decided to go to one of the places nobody would ever look for her.

Richard had been scoping out the club and the people in it for ninety minutes. Very boring work and the music was probably worse than bad for his ears. There was a young teenage girl, probably nineteen, who had just been brought a drink. Richard would have stepped in and done something but he remembered the person giving her the drink had walked in holding her hand: probably a couple so no danger there.

For Richard, clubs were uncomfortable places. Still, he'd always been a bit of a people watcher. Ironic really. He got a thrill from creating stories and fitting them to people. The best part was if and when he got conformation about his fictions.

As time had passed, the dance floor had become even more crowded. Richard was just sitting in a corner with a bottle of spring water. Richard didn't like drinking. It impaired his judgement and reaction time. As Richard scanned the mass of people around him, his eyes landed on a gorgeous woman who was navigating along the walls. She looked mildly uncomfortable but was shrugging it off nonetheless.

She moved with confidence but it was a quiet thing. She knew what she wanted and who she was but she wasn't domineering. She was dressed conservatively in black jeans and a short sleeved blue shirt. Richard's eyes followed the woman as she went to the bar, bought a light beer, and headed for a secluded booth.

Richard took some time to further examine how she moved and how she was dressed. She wasn't a usual clubber. In fact, she looked about as out of place here as Richard felt. She was here for a reason – maybe to meet somebody. Richard's fiction continued to unfold.

She wasn't here for fun. That was obvious. No, she wanted to lose somebody. Maybe a jealous ex- or a guy who was too perfect to be true was tailing her. She didn't seem like the type to get involved in a fling of any sort, even one that took place under the influence of drugs. The small sips she was taking from her drink didn't seem indicative of an alcoholic.

Her clothes weren't the latest fashion, at least not to the best of Richard's knowledge. Admittedly, he wasn't the best person to ask for fashion advice. The beer she'd bought was one of the cheaper drinks offered by _Big Moe's_. Financial difficulty? If that was the case, she owned her own business. Richard only had to look once to tell that she was smart enough to earn twice his salary. Garfield interrupted Richard's story exercise.

"Pretty isn't she?"

Richard jumped at the sound of Garfield's voice. "When did you get here?"

"Few seconds ago." Garfield slid into a seat across from Richard. "I don't know, Dick. She seems out of your league."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about." Richard really didn't know what Garfield was talking about. Sometimes, it was as if the two friends spoke different languages.

"Great," Garfield said before bouncing out of his seat. "That means she's up for grabs."

Richard rolled his eyes behind his shades as Garfield trotted off toward the woman. Now he understood. That was just like Garfield. Richard couldn't help thinking that he had seen her before. But where? They were new to Jump City and he hadn't met a whole lot of people. Then Richard remembered. This was the woman he had tailed earlier.

Richard got up and started toward the table that the mystery woman and his partner were occupying. Garfield looked like he was trying to engage her in conversation. She looked like she was trying to find the nearest exit.

As Richard got closer, he caught a little bit of their conversation. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

"Nothing really. I just want to kill a little time." Richard smiled to himself. He'd been right on at least one count.

"Really? Would you maybe like to dan…"

Richard cut in before the question could be asked; "Leave her alone, Gar."

The woman looked up at Richard and he caught a good look of her face. Had he thought she was gorgeous before? He had been wrong. She was stunning, amazing, unbelievable. The way the lights bounced off of her alabaster skin gave the illusion that she was glowing. Her hair was a flowing mass of black that caught the light when she moved her head. Then there were her eyes: such a piercing violet. Richard felt like he would get lost if he looked directly into those eyes.

"You know him?" Her voice was a steady pitch that bounced around in Richard's ears like so many tinkling bells.

"Yes, this is my partner, Garfield Logan."

"Rachel Roth," she introduced herself but made no move to shake either of their hands.

Garfield leaned back in the booth seat. "Gar and Dick, operators of Logan and Grayson."

"Never heard of you," Rachel said before taking another small sip from the glass of amber liquid in her right hand.

"You wouldn't have," Richard broke in before Garfield got the change to speak, "we're private investigators. Just moved here from Gotham City." Richard noticed that Rachel had just swallowed. "Nervous?" He wouldn't have asked but the action seemed more exaggerated than it should have been.

Rachel shook her head quickly. "Just surprised. I've never met private investigators before. Didn't all of you die out with the discovery of electricity?"

"Yeah well, Dick and I just happen to be some of the best Pi's around," Garfield said, smoothly ignoring the barbed humor.

Rachel raised an eyebrow before turning to Richard again. "I really need to get going." As she got up Rachel seemed to think about something. "Do you guys do missing people?"

"Sometimes," both Richard and Garfield responded at the same time.

Rachel nodded to herself. "Thanks, maybe I'll get in touch with you guys later."

After Rachel had left, Garfield smirked at Richard. "You like her. You like her a lot."

"I just met her." Richard waved Garfield's accusation away.

"You're in denial. That's okay, Dick, we can work this out." Garfield was coddling Richard and, at any other time, it would have bothered him. Right now, he was more interested in Rachel.

"Did that seem at all strange to you, Gar? She wanted to kill time but barely spent ten minutes in here." Richard's sixth sense was drilling a hole in the back of his head. What was going on here?

"You really need to relax, Dick. Over-analysis can wait until tomorrow, can't it?"

"Yeah, I guess. Are you ready to go?"

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**Next Update:** Wednesday, August 2, 2006

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	8. The Puppeteer

Wow, Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters reached it's 1000th hit last week. Yay! Sad that this event is celebrated, oh well... Once more, thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I really hope you all enjoy this post because it was among my favorite to write. I had to re-write it a few times to do the scene justice but I'm thinking I finally got it right. Tell me what you think when you review.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans, mustard, NASA, libraries, television, monks, the water that gets in your ear and refuses to go away, the state of Ohio, cars, computers, keyboards, gnats, snakes, the dancing Santa Claus' that sing carols off key, paperweights, bubble wrap, ice-cream, cellphones, or nuclear launch codes. If you own any of these things and want to sell them, PM me.

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The Puppeteer

Terrific! She had just spoken to two private investigators. That wasn't good. The last thing Rachel needed was to speak to people that might be looking for her. She'd only taken two things but there was going to be more. There had to be more. Otherwise, Blood would just stay secretive. It was amazing really: Rachel was trusting somebody who worshipped the root of all evil to follow through on a promise.

Rachel pulled the purple rental into the apartment's parking lot. If Taloose had been in Rachel's room earlier, he would have left by now to get some sleep. After all, it wasn't as if she could disappear overnight. He'd be able to catch her tomorrow and Borne Taloose hated losing sleep.

Just to be safe, Rachel entered her room using the fire escape. The room was the same as when she had dashed out that morning except for an indentation on her mattress and mussed sheets where it was obvious her gelatinous landlord had parked his bulk. The dresser was still in one piece, all the drawers securely closed. That was important. The lights were off and piles of dirty clothes were collecting in the hamper next to the window.

Rachel went over to her dresser and pulled the top drawer out. The poorly crafted pinewood finally came loose after the second tug. This particular drawer was for her socks but the real objective was beyond the dresser. Rachel reached her hand through the drawer's space to the wall behind. There was a custom-made hole in the wall, concealed by the dresser. Inside the hole there was a tiny red gem the size of a marble.

Rachel unwrapped the granite she'd brought up. For something so old and, supposedly, evil, the artifact was very pretty. Rachel placed the marble inside of the column's indentation for better storage before moving to put the two back in their hiding place.

"Greetings Mortal." Rachel almost dropped the stone when the deep booming voice cut through the silence that had preceded it. It seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Hello?" Rachel wasn't quite sure what was going on and responded slowly, uncertainly.

"There is much pain in you." It wasn't a question. How could it be when you had a voice like that? This person, this thing, spoke with the authority that came with knowing everything. "Complete a few tasks for me and I can give you what you want."

Rachel looked around warily. Who or what was talking to her and how could they deliver on that promise? Rachel didn't want a lot. Rachel wanted the impossible. "And what exactly," Rachel spoke to the room in general, "do you think I want?"

"Family. You have lost someone valuable to you. You wish to be a child again and see your mother once more. Serve me, I can give you what you long for."

"And who would I be serving?" Rachel plucked out the red stone and talked to it. The voice didn't answer but Rachel was swarmed by darkness and felt her sense of direction fall away into nothingness. She was dizzy, quickly becoming nauseous, and struggled to see beyond the curtain of gloom pressed over her eyes. It was hot, as if she was floating in an oven. Finally, Rachel's eyes focused on the only thing not sheathed in black. There were four blood red eyes looking at her and from those eyes, slowly, a body followed.

Rachel was looking at something out of one of her old picture books. She'd never actually thought she'd see this… thing. For all of her pent up anger toward supreme entities, she'd never really thought that they existed. Yet, how could she argue with what her senses were telling her?

Trigon the Terrible loomed out of the darkness. Deep red, almost maroon skin with strips of black on his chest, legs, and arms – a mockery of an earth zebra. But if Trigon was as old as Rachel thought, then zebras were actually a mockery of him. Two antlers sprouted from his scalp, shooting through a thick mane of white hair. To top off his exotic appearance, he had claws instead of fingernails and stood upright on two hoofed feet. Rachel would be able to fit into one of his outstretched hands and killed by a flicked finger.

"You know me. And I know you." The demon reached out a hand and Rachel felt the shadow mass under her solidify as the creature conjured some semblance to a floor and gravity. Then, Trigon moved to pick up Rachel, something that did more than intimidate her.

"What do you want from me?" Rachel's voice was shakier than she would have liked. Trigon only chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that could crumble stone, as he lifted Rachel up to eye level.

"What I want does not matter to you nor is it pertinent. My desires and ambitions pale in comparison to your own. Help me obtain my objectives and reach yours in turn."

"How could you help me get my mother back? You're a demon, isn't what I want out of your power?"

Rachel could tell that she had offended him. Not a smart idea. "Foolish girl. When it is said that I am all powerful, it means that nothing is beyond my reach." If his laugh could crumble stone, the tone he used now could reach out and latch onto hearts– squeezing them until they refused to beat. "But you seek proof of good faith. Understandable, from one whose mind has been poisoned by mortal logic and philosophy. You are, after all, a flawed breed." Trigon's voice lightened until it could be assumed that the demon was actually amused.

"You wish for proof of my power," Trigon used the hand that wasn't holding Rachel to drag one massive claw through the swirling mass of shadows everywhere. Where the claw touched, a swirling red and orange portal opened. A few seconds after the claw passed, the portal calmed and Rachel could see her world. Just a regular street, with regular people, going about their regular lives. Why did it feel so eerily familiar then?

Trigon lowered his hand to the portal, close enough that Rachel could jump into it. "Take your proof." Rachel looked over her shoulder once before jumping into the street.

Rachel's feet hit solid concrete and she stumbled a little trying to regain her balance. While Rachel was balancing, she ran into one of the many people rushing along Jump City's streets to their jobs. "Watch it," the man she had collided with barked as he brushed past her and into a pastry shop.

Rachel looked at the shop's name. Aunt Teresa's Kitchen. Rachel smiled after seeing the pastry shop. She'd come here a lot as a kid with whatever spare change she'd been able to scrounge up. The building looked like something out of "Hansel and Gretel," with its bricks painted to look like it was made out of candy. Just as quickly, the smile slid off of Rachel's face, oil off of saran wrap. Aunt Teresa's Kitchen had been destroyed fourteen years ago. The crash that had killed her mother had also sent Teresa's up in flames.

Rachel turned; horror dancing in her eyes, as she searched for two cars she knew would be there shortly. Rachel stood stock-still, watching, waiting. People were moving around her, unaware that many of them were about to witness a fiery explosion that would scar Rachel for life.

Rachel finally regained control of body and the first thing she did was scream. A bloodcurdling shriek without words, holding nothing but fear and pain. "Let me out! Let me out!" Unshed tears welled up in Rachel's eyes. They wouldn't be unshed for long.

"Mommy," Rachel heard a small boy ask, "what's wrong with that lady?" Rachel couldn't see it through the water in her eyes but it was easy to invision the little child pointing at her, despite being told countless times that pointing was rude, and the mother avoiding the question while ushering her child away from somebody who seemed completely crazy.

"Make it stop," Rachel whispered as tears trailed down her face and she collapsed onto her knees. She wanted proof that her mother could be brought back, not proof that Trigon could let her see her mother again. She didn't want to see her mother die. She had been in school when it happened and lucky enough to not be exposed to the details. She didn't want to see what was about to happen.

"You don't want to see your mother again." The scene melted away and Rachel was in Trigon's hand once more. "You want your mother to see you. Bringing back the dead is no small task. But it is something I can do. Not yet though. My control over events in the mortal plain is limited."

"How can I help?" Rachel asked without thinking about it. Rachel Roth wanted to be a child again, to have her mother usher away all the things that were wrong with the world. Anybody that could promise her that won out over Blood and his information.

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**Next Update: **Wednesday, August 9, 2006  
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	9. The Case

This one was a lot of fun for me. I hope you enjoy the most recent addition to this little ol' story of mine. It should go without saying but I'll say it anyway. If you've taken the time to read this, please take an extra minute or two to tell me what you think.**  
**

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters is mine. All mine! Enjoy.

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The Case

"Ah, Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan, I presume?" The Jump City Chief of Police seemed less than thrilled with the meeting. If the grim slash across his face and the tone he employed were misinterpreted, the narrowed slits of his eyes could not be.

"Chief Skinner," Richard replied with just as much poorly concealed malice and a curt nod of his head.

"Dudes, did I miss something?" Garfield was the only person out of the three who didn't currently radiate hatred.

"Nothing important, Gar," Richard responded. The deadly glares that were traveling between Skinner and Richard said otherwise.

"Right." Garfield coughed uneasily after a moment of silence. "I'll just call the Anders' and say Kori's stalker has been taken care of, shall I?" Garfield vanished before getting a response. In truth, it wasn't likely that anybody had heard him.

"You are aware that you've committed a crime. Correct, Mr. Grayson?" Chief Skinner kept his gaze fastened onto the blue mirrors covering Richard's eyes.

Richard didn't rise to the bait. "What crime would that be?" he asked with sincerity ringing in his tone. If it wasn't obvious that Richard would love to jump the chief, he might have fooled somebody.

"What crime? I'm so glad you asked, Mr. Grayson," Skinner snickered in a way that communicated that he was about to ruin somebody's day as he plucked a manila folder off the top of his desk. "Let's see, shall we?"

Richard and Garfield had just caught Kori's stalker and delivered him to the police. Unfortunately, the police were less than happy that they had been shown up by private investigators.

"Discharging your fire-arm in a public area, impersonating an officer of the law, and making an arrest without a warrant. Quite a track record you have here." The chief threw the folder back onto his desk while darting a hand through his mane of prematurely gray hair.

"First off, _sir_," Richard spat out the word as if the very taste was poison, "I only fired in response to an unprovoked attack on my partner. Besides, I only shot the guy's finger. Second, we had probable cause for the arrest."

"Really? Your report failed to mention such." Chief Skinner spoke in the same falsely sweet and over-enunciated voice that he used to address children who were taking a field trip through the station; and, Richard was forced, briefly, to wonder if it was at all possible for him to make the chief like him less.

"We had a look-a-like in the middle of being kidnapped."

"Oh!" Skinner's eyes took on an adventure's wistful gleam of final discovery as he clicked open a cheap office pen. "So we can add entrapment to the list!"

"Not at all." Richard stood from the straight-back chair and barely stopped himself from punching the chief's face in when the glint in the man's eye grew. "We did nothing to force or encourage the suspect to act as he did."

The chief scowled and put down the pen as he realized Richard was right. He would love to add more to the folder. In his opinion, the Gotham Police had been fools to give Logan and Grayson as much freedom as they had.

Gregory Skinner had his secretary run a background check as soon as he learned that there were new private investigators in Jump City. The investigators, Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan, had been spoiled in Gotham City by police who couldn't tell their head from their backside. Now they were in _his _city and expecting the same treatment.

"Well," the chief huffed, "there's still the man's statement to take into account." Skinner flipped through the folder and withdrew a piece of paper. "When the man first showed up," he read, "he shouted 'Freeze, police!' The last time I checked, Mr. Grayson, neither you nor your partner were members of the JCPD."

"If you'll re-read that statement," Richard started to smile. He'd won this round on all counts. "I said we were police. Both Gar and myself are honorary members of the Gotham force. Not once did I indicate that we belonged to Jump City's police force." The chief kept trying to trap Richard and Richard kept sidestepping. If it were possible for Richard and Skinner to dislike each other more, the next few hours did it.

ooo

"That went well," Garfield said once the chief's office door opened and Richard stepped out. Sadly, he wasn't being sarcastic. "For the record," he continued, "I am never pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl again."

"I'm surprised that it actually worked," Richard laughed to his partner as he pushed his meeting with Skinner to the back of his mind. "You're small, Gar, but not that small. Still, whatever works, right?"

"Maybe for you. I still have some dignity, you know."

"Exactly," Richard pointed out, "that's why you needed to be the bait. We can't have you with dignity, can we?" Richard's tone was light and joking.

"Your aim has gotten pretty bad since I last checked." Garfield shot back. "Honestly, severing the tendons in his forefinger? What were you aiming for anyway?"

"His forefinger," Richard stated bluntly. "Have you ever tried to fire a gun without your trigger finger?"

"Wait," Garfield turned and walked along side Richard while doing a deformed grapevine; "you were aiming for his finger? Never mind what I said about your aim." They continued in silence for a moment. Only a moment though. Garfield broke the silence with one drawn out and highly annoying sentence; "I know something you don't know." Garfield righted himself and started walking regularly.

"If it's like the last time you told me you knew something I didn't know, I don't care." The memories of that conversation were painful for Richard.

"Hey, that's information all people should know. If they did, maybe they'd stop eating so much meat," Garfield insisted. In Richard's opinion, anybody who knew that kind of information and continued to eat the stuff had a death wish.

"Gar," Richard put one hand up to stem the flow of his friend's words, "is this like the hot dog thing?"

"No, but if you want…"

"That's okay. Really." Richard would never be able to eat a hot dog again. That was what Garfield had done to him. Garfield's vegetarian habits had forever destroyed any of the appeal Richard had once seen in a cookout. To think, he had once gladly eaten something with such a high amount of sodium, fat, and nitrate. Worse still, they could easily have been made of any combination of snouts, ears and organ meat and Richard would never know.

"What I'm talking about involves one of your more recent obsessions." That got Richard's attention. Richard ignored the stab at the fact that he was a work-a-holic for the moment. Garfield knew something about the investigation on The Raven.

"What do you know?"

"Well," Garfield started slowly. Now that he had Richard's undivided attention, Garfield was going to dangle whatever scrap he had over Richard's nose until he begged for it. "I talked to a few people while you were in there poking the chief with a cattle prod." Richard tried and failed to hide his smile. Garfield knew him far too well. "After asking a few questions, trading names, all that good stuff," Garfield was getting ready to deliver what he had, "I managed to get Logan and Grayson invited onto the investigation on The Raven."

Richard was speechless and Garfield filled in the silence with a poor imitation of Richard's voice that made him sound like a naïve little girl. "Wow! Thanks a lot, Gar. You're the best!"

Garfield switched back to his own voice; "I know. I am nothing short of a miracle worker. You can repay me later. Oh, by the way, don't expect anything for your birthday."

Richard finally regained his voice. "You're not playing some cruel joke?"

"Me? Play a cruel joke?" The ruse fell away almost instantly. "Fine, but not this time."

"What do we have to work with, Gar?" Richard fell into his business role instantly.

"Dude, we have the city department's full cooperation. At least until the chief finds out, that is." Garfield held out his left hand in a high-five motion. Richard had stopped after Garfield's announcement and was too far behind to follow up the motion.

"Wait a minute," Richard took off his sunglasses and eyed Garfield in a new light. "During the three hours I was in there, you built up a network of Jump City cops we can count on and got us invited onto the case behind the chief's back?"

"And," Garfield held up a paper bag Richard hadn't noticed until then, "got a new police scanner."

"I knew I liked you for a reason." Richard had been going crazy over the whole Raven thing since it started and Garfield had just handed him the means to look into it. He was going to be impossible to deal with the next time Richard tried to put his foot down about something but _this_ was worth it.

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**Next Update: **Wednesday, August 16, 2006

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	10. Research Bore

Right. I need to do this now 'cause who knows when my next chance will be? For those of you who are scratching your head right now, I'm heading back to school. I'd say joy but sarcasm isn't very well transmitted over text. For those of you with still a few dregs of summer left, have fun. For those who have headed back, there isn't really a positive thing I can say. Sorry. As always, enjoy the story and please take a few minutes at the end to tell me what you think. It really does help me. Final note, the divider isn't working so I shall use X's.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters is mine and I'm thrilled that so many people seem to enjoy it.

**XXXXX**

Research Bore

It was sad really: the computers Richard and Garfield had been using for the past hour were just slow enough for a person to nod off between loading periods but not so slow as to allow REM sleep. Garfield put one hand over his mouth and stifled a yawn. The blue loading bar was either not moving or going backwards. It wouldn't have surprised him if it was going in reverse.

Richard was having more luck. The computer wasn't high quality, far from it. Still, this was the first time Richard had gotten to see the security footage of The Raven and he was drinking it up. The first heist was unfolding in front of Richard while Garfield waited impatiently for the second heist to play.

Around them, people were navigating the aisles of the public library. The heavy wood shelves were cluttered with everything a person who cared to read would want. Dust was settling over the areas that received less traffic. Garfield wasn't usually that observant but he noticed all of this.

Richard didn't notice his partner's lack of interest toward their assignment. Richard was in his own little world. He wasn't learning anything special from the footage but he was trying. The Raven had known what to expect once she was inside the building. She'd been careful and meticulous. Richard was on his third run-through of the tape. Still, he'd gotten nothing. There just wasn't anything to get; the theft had been executed perfectly.

Richard glanced over at Garfield to see him peeling some clear tape off of the tabletop. Garfield had always hated research. The guy was just more of a people person. He'd never learned how to look at a book or a computer screen without losing interest.

Richard sighed inwardly and took off his sunglasses before returning to the computer screen. Then, he folded them into his breast pocket – as if by removing the reflective lenses he could glean more information from the video. Steely cobalt eyes narrowed into slits as Richard tried to pick the footage apart.

"Dick," Garfield asked while stifling another yawn, "isn't there a way I could be more useful doing something else? You know, maybe talking to a few people to learn what's going on?"

"Just bear with me a little longer, Gar," Richard responded disjointedly, as if his attention were elsewhere. That was because it was. "I know you don't like research but this needs to be done. If you don't want to watch the videos, you could hit the books and see if the two things that were stolen had any connection."

"Hit the books to see if there is a connection? And where, pray tell, would you suggest looking?" Garfield queried while rubbing his left bicep.

"Oh, I don't know, Gar," Richard snapped back at his partner. "We are in a library, why not try there?"

"Dick," Garfield whispered, not so much for privacy or respect of the fact that they were in a library but because he was struggling to speak through another yawn, "the things stolen were random trinkets. We could spend years flipping through these books looking for a clue and still find nothing."

Richard's shoulders drooped. He hadn't really heard the words, just the tone they were spoken in. Richard wasn't sure exactly what had happened but Garfield was out of it. More so than usual.

"Gar," Richard started slowly, fishing for the words, "we'll have a lot of your type of work later but right now I need your help with these videos. I know this isn't your favorite thing but it needs to be done if we're going to get anywhere."

"Yeah," Garfield sighed, "I know."

After a few minutes, Garfield spoke. "Dick, do you want to switch. You're better at this kind of thing, so I figured it would be good if you took a swing at the knew stuff, just in case I missed something." Richard and Garfield switched computers so that they wouldn't have to load the security tape again.

Richard took his sunglasses from his breast pocket and placed them back over his eyes. The footage was different for this heist. Very different. The Raven seemed rushed, scared, distracted. Richard noted that for his own use and waited.

The Raven didn't know where the security cameras were this time. She had a general idea but not the exact location. That was probably why she was keeping her head down. Richard guessed that she'd been familiar with the last place but not this one. They needed to check the scene of the first heist to see about regulars and new employees.

Richard watched as The Raven came to the best security in the place. Trip lasers. Clumsily placed and visible to the naked eye – or at least the camera could pick them up. The Raven knew how to move, that was for sure. They were looking for a woman who had taken either gymnastics or dance as a child.

As The Raven ran, ducked, slid, sprung, and flipped around the room her cloak flew open, something she had not allowed to happen during the first heist. The hood stayed up, which was unfortunate, but her clothes were revealed. Black jeans and a short sleeved blue shirt. Nothing too extraordinary, but Richard's sixth sense was drilling a hole in the back of his head. She looked very familiar.

"Gar," Richard asked, annoyance coloring his tone, "did you actually watch this?" There was no way anybody, even Garfield, could not get a mountain of information from this video. There was no response. Richard turned to the other computer to see the chair empty. Garfield had played off of Richard's habits and slipped out while he was watching the footage.

Richard patted down his pockets for his car keys. They were still in his left pocket. So, Garfield hadn't taken the car, which was good. Still, he had ditched Richard to do who knows what. Richard shrugged it off. It wasn't the first time Garfield had bailed on research. It was a bit of a tradition and it would have been a shame to break it.

Richard went back to his research for a while. There was nothing he could do about Garfield and he still had a few questions that he wanted answered. Forty-five minutes later, Richard saved the two videos to a floppy disk so that he could see them later. Then he spent a little time looking for books that could possibly be relevant to the case. Richard doubted he'd find anything, but it never hurt to check.

Richard checked out the books and walked out of the library. If Garfield wanted to play a game, Richard would play along. The difference was, Richard had the car and no remorse when it came to giving Garfield a hard time.

A few clouds drifted across the sky, obscuring the sun and granting a brief temperature drop. The drop was accompanied by a gust of wind that sent dried leaves scurrying across the library parking lot, caught up in miniature tornadoes. Richard's nose stung from the brief exposure to the chill air and he rubbed the cartilage for a moment once he reached the haven of the car.

Richard started the ignition and headed down the street. The roads weren't too congested because it was around eleven thirty in the morning. Everybody had already reached work and lunch break wasn't for another one or two hours. As Richard drove along, he passed a small little shop that looked like a literary club. A small poetry club to be exact. He remembered seeing Rachel Roth there yesterday.

Richard debated with himself for a minute before turning back around and looking for parking. "Gar's channeling through my body," Richard mumbled to himself. That didn't stop him from parking and heading into the small brick building.

**XXXXX**

**Next Update:** Wednesday, August 23, 2006

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	11. The Meeting

Okay, for some reason, I was having a hard time uploading this post into document manager and then I discovered that the divider problem from last week still isn't fixed. Enough complaining though. Here I am with your weekly instalment of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. I do hope you enjoy it. In the summary - when it says mild RaeRob - it is because romance isn't my strong point. I'm working on it and trying to bring you a teeny bit of fluff without destroying the integrity of the writing but it's not easy. My beta reader went to town on about half this post with the simple remark "Richard should be awkward, not the writing." I think I fixed it. If you read this entire thing, great. If not, yeah...

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. I am borrowing them breifly so that I can practice writing. I hope that readers enjoy and that rightful owners do not file a legal suit as I have very little of value and little free time now that school has started again.

**XXXXX**

The lighting wasn't the best in the world. The few windows were well-kept, bright light filtering through them and lighting the corners that would be dark during the building's more trafficked hours. Still, the natural light was the only light to speak of.

Every table had two candles, currently unlit, perched in ornate silver candlesticks, melted wax forming small stalactites over the edges. The tables were a deep chocolate brown with only the occasional wad of bubblegum on the bottom to mar them. The chairs were straight back and just as well maintained as the tabletops.

"And, she was like, 'oh, no you didn't' and I was like, 'oh, but I did.'" Richard almost turned around and walked back out when he heard that. Was it so hard to only use like when it actually made sense?

The speaker was a woman with dull red hair in her twenties. Her eyes held the same dullness, making the emerald color less like a precious gem and more like smog. Her skin was pale in a bad way and her nametag labeled her as Jessie. She was currently yapping to either a friend or boyfriend. Richard blocked her out as best as he could for his own peace of mind. Richard was carrying three books loosely by his side. Garfield would probably have told him that he shouldn't have brought work but Garfield wasn't here.

The tables didn't really have a specific layout. There was no shape nor was there a pattern. One may have gotten the feeling, on first glance, that the layout lent the room a claustrophobic or cluttered feeling. In reality, it felt good. Each table was surrounded, creating a sense of community and no isolated pockets. Still, there was enough room for private people to not feel crowded. It was a small touch but it was the small stuff that sometimes made all the difference.

Richard sat down in one of the corners next to a window and spent a moment looking at the other people in the room. Jessie was the only one. Apparently, this club wasn't a big place this time of day.

Richard opened one of the library books to the index and started to look for anything that could be useful. He didn't expect to find anything and he was not disappointed. Richard didn't know how much time passed but he was broken from his research-induced trance when the door swung open and a light bell signaled a new patron. Richard glanced up and saw Rachel walking into the building, looking irritated.

"And then, she completely went ballistic on me. I mean, it was, like, totally not a big deal and she went crazy," Jessie said while rubbing the ends of her hair. It extended to around what passed for her biceps and looked like it was a new hair cut.

Richard saw Rachel's eyes go straight to Jessie and Jessie seemed to sense them. "I'm gonna have to call you back, kay?" Jessie hung up the phone and clasped her hands politely behind her back – a child caught steeling from the cookie-jar and hoping that puppy eyes would save it. For some reason, Richard doubted that would work.

"Jess, what have I told you about talking on the phone while you're working?" Rachel asked with obvious disinterest while shrugging out of a gray windbreaker jacket. This was a conversation that was so old and repetitive that it would take Hollywood's best to bring it to life.

"Oh, come on Ms. Roth. There's nobody here," Jessie protested gesturing at the empty room and freezing when she saw Richard sitting in the corner.

"Really?" Rachel said while turning to see the room. She also stopped when Richard came into view. "Jessie?" Rachel sighed, disappointed.

"I'm, like, gonna go drown myself in the toilet now, kay?" Jessie deadpanned while her left hand started rubbing a few strands of her hair between her fingers.

Rachel nodded absently while walking over to Richard and Jessie vanished into the bathroom. "Sorry about that," Rachel paused once she got in front of Richard. Richard recognized the pause as something he often did when he had forgotten somebody's name.

"Richard Grayson," he supplied.

"Richard. Is there anything I can get you?" Rachel asked while pointing out a small card on the table that looked like a menu. The selection was limited but still, it was something.

"No, thank you, Ms. Roth. And please, call me Dick. I hope you don't mind if I stay here and read a little?" Richard chastised himself as soon as he finished speaking. Why couldn't he have just said; "I was looking for you" or anything else along that line. Something – anything – to communicate that he was interested in getting to know Rachel. Garfield always made this look so easy.

"Not at all, Dick. And, please, call me Rachel," Rachel responded while glancing at the spines of the books. "If you don't mind my asking, where is your partner?"

Richard was wagging a war with himself. It wasn't that he couldn't use first names but they were so… personal. A last name was a part of society, a necessary cog that made everything work. A first name, a first name made a human being with feelings. "Gar's off doing whatever he does when he runs away from research," Richard managed to say while shrugging in what he hoped looked like a natural movement.

"Garfield runs away from research often, then?" Rachel asked with a trace of laughter in her voice as she sat in the chair opposite of Richard. Good. Richard could make her laugh. If she laughed maybe it would dispel the awkwardness that had invaded his body and penetrated to his core. Everything seemed dream-like, drug induced, clumsy, unnatural.

"That's right, Rachel," Richard said, fighting not to stumble over the name. He closed the book on ancient Egyptian artifacts he'd been flipping through along with his eyes. That wasn't so bad. She was Rachel now. Rachel was a real person with hopes and dreams and family and… too much.

"Gar doesn't like research. Any chance he can get to avoid it, he'll take." Richard opened his eyes again and saw Jessie walk out of the bathroom. While the girl looked mortified, there was no evidence of an attempted suicide.

"So what were you researching for? Or is that confidential?" Rachel asked as Jessie came up behind her. Jessie bent down to whisper into Rachel's ear. Rachel cocked her head slightly and soon after Jessie started speaking, Rachel's face drained of what little color it had. This wasn't the pure alabaster skin that added to Rachel's natural beauty: this was ghostly white. Looking into Rachel's eyes, Richard saw that there were shutters over them. Empty eyes with no person behind them.

Jessie left to man her post behind the counter and her voice drifted across the room as she started talking on the phone again. Rachel didn't move to stop her. "Well," Richard started, trying to end the unpleasant silence; "it isn't classified. This case is for the police department. I'm researching different artifacts."

"Hmm," Rachel nodded. The color returned to her face and Richard realized that it was from pure force of will. Rachel was massaging her left wrist. She was nervous. Or scared. Or both.

"So, what's up?" Richard pressed in an attempt to get Rachel more comfortable. It was bad enough when he was insolating himself. If Rachel clamed up, the meeting would go nowhere. Though, if Rachel's reaction to Jessie was a current thing it may have been the wrong question.

"You want my life story?" Rachel's eyes opened again into the tunnels that Richard found so fascinating. Violet tunnels that traveled deep into the very heart of her soul.

"No, not really. Life stories are often not enough to capture who a person really is. I know that you're name is Rachel Roth and I'm pretty sure you own this club. There has to be more." Richard stopped here and waited. One beat, then two.

Rachel's lips curved up in a small smile. "Really? You sure about that Dick?"

Richard didn't answer in favor of staring down Rachel, silently urging her to go further. "Okay." Richard said evenly after Rachel met his gaze. "You own this club. How is business?"

Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. "Business isn't very good. This is a popular place for college students but, between rent, bills, and food, they don't make the kind of money I need to charge to get repairs done or pay for my own bills."

"And as a result, this is a popular place that is slowly, but surely, losing money," Richard finished for her. "That explains why you got worked up earlier." Richard could have kicked himself after seeing Rachel's reaction. He wanted to befriend Rachel, and here he was, obviously making some very stupid mistakes.

"I'm wasn't worked up about anything." Richard noted how Rachel's shoulders tensed up and her right hand moved over to her left wrist again.

"Sorry, my mistake," Richard said while spreading his hands out over the table.

Rachel seemed to let the matter drop. Richard had definitely hit on a soft spot but Rachel wasn't to the point of shutting him out completely. Richard hadn't screwed up that completely, yet. "Why did you think I was worked up anyway, Dick?"

Richard was going to lie until he remembered one of Garfield's many forced lessons about how to date. _"I don't know how they do it, but woman can always tell when you aren't being sincere and honest."_

Richard cleared his throat and tried to come up with an answer that didn't make him sound like a stalker. He wasn't a stalker. Just too observant for his own good. "You looked stressed when you came into work and you were really pale after Jessie talked to you. Just a little guesswork. Sorry if I was wrong."

Rachel chuckled silently, most likely to relieve stress. "Garfield wasn't lying when he said you guys were the best, was he?"

"We both have our own strengths. Don't call Gar that to his face," Richard added as an after-thought. "I tend to be the more book smart one of us and Gar is the biggest people person to ever live. So, if you have a little time, I was wondering if you would maybe like to grab lunch with me?"

**XXXXX**

**Next Update:** Wednesday, August 30, 2006

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	12. The Meal

GAH! When are the dividers going to get fixed! This is just not cool. :grumbles: Any way, how is everybody on this fine Wednesday? Having a nice day? Yeah, my small talk isn't very good. Well, here we have another update of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. Please, feel free to enjoy and tell me what you think. A little note for next week's update. My class is going on our class trip the morning of the sixth aka update day. I will try my very, very best to make sure that it is put up before I leave. I think that it's around 5:30 though, so please cut me a tiny amount of slack if I miss. If it's not up by Wednesday; it will be up by Saturday.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own, nor is he affiliated with, DC comics, Cartoon Network, or the Teen Titans - used to be animated - series.

**XXXXX**

The Meal

Richard ordered for both of them. Them meaning himself and Garfield. Richard got a medium-well steak marinated in the restaurant's special sauce and a side of baby red potatoes. He got Garfield a house salad and eggplant parminiani. Richard thought about waiting for Garfield but started eating on the grounds that he didn't know when Garfield would show up. Really, the steak smelt too good for Richard to ignore.

The restaurant was one of those small family owned, hole-in-the-wall places. There weren't a lot of customers but the place was charming enough. The waitress was a pleasant woman with beefy arms and the chef could be heard in the back talking to the food. Richard wasn't quite sure what to make of that. The steak was good though, so whatever was going on worked.

"Oh, you ordered for me." Garfield pulled out a chair and sat down across from Richard. It was strange that Richard hadn't noticed him earlier. His thoughts were just somewhere else recently. "It's nice to see that you're taking our current job so seriously."

"You had better be joking, Gar," Richard said while slicing off another bite of his steak. Garfield was only joking around, a fact Richard was well aware of. This was another part of the tradition.

Garfield skipped out on research so now Richard had to get in his face about it. Once upon a time, the tradition had been real. There hadn't been a friendly relationship between the two and Richard would do everything short of killing Garfield to get the point across that what he had done was unacceptable. At this point, both of them knew it was an act.

"What? You can't tell that I'm kidding?" Garfield tried to backpedal. Another act.

"No, I can tell," Richard responded, letting it drop earlier than usual. "What have you been up to today?"

"Well," Garfield plopped down in his seat and started in on his salad, "I watched some security footage." Richard felt his annoyance take an unexpected jump but he didn't say anything. "I asked around about recent contracts that have been put out," Garfield stuffed a tomato into his mouth and Richard had to struggle to understand what was being said, "I was a temporary traffic cop at the intersection of Hallow Springs Road and Sunset Avenue."

"Wait a minute," Richard interrupted. This not only shut Garfield up but also gave him an opportunity to swallow his partially masticated food. "There was a wreck at that intersection."

Garfield shrugged sheepishly and impaled a cucumber slice on his fork; "Must have been after I left." It was a nice save. Not true, but a valiant attempt at not looking like an idiot. "Anyway, like I was saying, I… I think I ran out of things I did." Garfield lifted his fork to his mouth before something occurred to him. "Dick, how did you know I would come here?"

"Oh," Richard waved a hand to dismiss the question, "just a wild guess from when you pointed this place out earlier and insisted that we eat lunch here."

"How'd your meeting with Rachel Roth go?" Garfield said around his mouthful of cucumber.

"Want to explain how knew about that?" Richard put down his silverware and crossed his arms across his chest.

Garfield mercifully swallowed before speaking. "Dick, do you remember the very first time we were trapped in a small space together?" Richard remembered the episode clearly. They had just been saddled together as partners back in Gotham City for a particularly tricky case. Both of them had been private consultants before teaming up and starting their own firm.

As a team building exercise, Richard and Garfield had been put in an old isolation chamber – one of those rooms used by NASA for psychological testing and analysis – for twenty-four hours. Garfield had brought up a number of random subjects to pass the time. One that stood out was…

"You finally got to live one of your many idiotic dreams?" Richard couldn't help but smile. Garfield truly was a child at heart.

"Laugh if you will, Dick. The fact remains that I, not you, got to say," at this point Richard joined in, doing his best not to laugh, "follow that car."

Richard broke down into silent laughter. "You tailed me? Wow, I'm getting rusty to not notice a taxi following me."

"So?" Garfield asked, finally cutting into his eggplant.

"So, what?"

"How was your meeting with Rachel, smart one?" Garfield lightly smacked his forehead to accentuate the insult. Things truly were going topsy-turvy if Garfield was calling Richard out on his intelligence.

"It went well. We talked for a little bit…"

Garfield cut in at this point, swinging his fork in the air to swat the words back. "About what?"

"I was getting to that, Gar. Try not to be so impatient," Richard sighed. "Just small talk really. A little about this case, a little about her business and life, a little about how the two of us," Richard used his finger to connect Garfield and him with an invisible line, "met and work together. Just small talk."

"Right. So, how did she turn down the date invitation?" Garfield plucked an olive off the top of his salad and tossed it into the air. Garfield's aim was a little off and it bounced off his nose. He snatched the olive out of the air before it could hit the floor and popped it into his mouth.

"I keep forgetting that you followed me. Where were you anyway?"

Garfield avoided answering the question by brandishing one of his infamous I-told-you-so moments. "You're willing to admit that I have gotten better at tracking and stealth? I told you I got better since the Drake thing but noooo…"

"Yes." Richard didn't take long in spitting out the admission. Anything to shut Garfield up. "Gar, you've gotten better since the Moxley case. Do you have to do the thing that you do?" The answer was yes. The meal digressed from a civilized conversation into childish taunts. It was a one-sided conversation.

"How did she respond?" Garfield asked after about fifteen minutes. Richard started at the abrupt change in subject, choking on the water he'd just put in his mouth. Just a second ago he was being told about one of Garfield's fourth grade science projects – which, apparently, he did well on. Now he was trying to breathe while simultaneously keeping water in his mouth.

"How did who respond to what?" Richard asked when he finally coughed sparse amounts of water from his lungs. Richard had a feeling that something had sailed over his head, but with Garfield it was hard to tell.

"How did Rachel respond to you asking her out?" Richard caught an additional, "And people call me slow," that was obviously supposed to stay either a whisper or a thought.

"She was polite and asked for a rain check," Richard shrugged slightly, waiting for whatever random bit of dating wisdom Garfield was about to impart.

"Yes, Jessie told me that much," Garfield rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do you remember her exact response, though?"

Richard raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if the exact wording was important. Garfield responded to his thoughts. "Her exact words are very important. It's possible that she really did just want a rain check or she could have wanted you to go cut your wrist but was too polite to say it."

"I don't really remember the exact words, Gar," Richard said distantly while taking the last bite of his steak and signing the air when he caught the server's eye – the universal sign for getting the check.

"Try to remember, Dick. It's important. By the way," he added as an after thought, "I'm not paying for lunch."

"First off, Gar, I've paid the last six times we've eaten out. Second, it isn't important. Important is a murder. Important is a thief who nobody has managed to catch. Important is…"

"Yada, yada, yada. Dick, you never listened to that tape I made, did you?" Richard felt his cheeks heat up in an ashamed blush. He had, actually, listened to the tape in question.

Garfield had once hidden a tape recorder on his person and recorded everything he did on a normal day. Then, he got all the parts where Richard was present and put it on a single tape. He'd given it to Richard the next day insisting that he really needed to hear himself talk. Richard had listened. He hadn't changed since the tape but he had listened to it.

"I know something about our case. I was looking at contracts that have recently been put out today, remember?" he added in response to the double take Richard did. "I can tell you what I know if, and only if, you tell me Rachel's exact words. You also need to pay for lunch." Almost as if by magic, Richard remembered Rachel's response.

**XXXXX**

**Next Update:** Wednesday, September 6, 2006

**XXXXX**


	13. Human Chemistry

Why oh why are the dividers still not working? Is it just my computer? Sorry, that's just a smal bit of my OCD coming through. It isn't diagnosed but it is definately there. Yeah. Sorry, my brain and my fingers aren't connected this fine morning. There is just something unnatural about being up before the sun. Please, if you enjoy what you see; tell me about it. If you see something that you don't think too highly of, and are brave enough; say something. See you next Wednesday.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own Teen Titans. Do not sue me. That would be a colossal waste of my time and yours. Balkoth enjoys writing and is borrowing the characters from the Teen Titans to dangle his feet in the water.

**XXXXX**

Human Chemistry

Richard and Rachel walked in comfortable silence down the beaten dirt path. The leafless tress surrounded them on all sides while stars winked at them from above. The discarded leaves littered the ground, crunching under their feet. Richard and Rachel had just had dinner and watched a movie. Now, they were just walking through the woods with the stars and moon serving as their only source of light.

Personally, Richard enjoyed their second date a little more than the first. They'd gone roller-skating three nights ago and Richard had looked and felt like a pigeon with a broken foot. If he hadn't caught the way Rachel had looked at him, it would have been thoroughly embarrassing. Even when Rachel seemed to find it endearing, it was embarrassing. At least when he was using his own two feet there was less chance that he'd crash into somebody.

Garfield had not made any of this easy. The guy had always been trying to set Richard up in the past but now that Richard was dating; Richard was beginning to think it had only been so that Garfield could bother him. When Richard told Garfield how Rachel had responded to his first invitation, Garfield had disclosed that there were contracts being set up for the artifacts by a cult called The Brother's Blood.

The artifacts were part of a set. The final piece was just as old and seemingly unimportant as the first two. Four days ago, they'd learned that. A pillar with steps, a blood red gem, and a clawed hand. When they were all put together, they formed a creepy centerpiece. Three parts, three heists, one last chance to catch The Raven. The Raven was still a mystery. Garfield was willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that The Raven was a member of The Brother's Blood. Richard wasn't sure about that.

Garfield was currently digging through his sources at _Moe's_ to find anything else about The Brother's Blood, The Raven, or ancient artifacts that nobody cared about. While Garfield was doing that, Richard was on a date.

Richard wasn't a hundred percent there. "Hello? Dick, are you still with me?" Rachel sighed quietly as she dragged Richard out of his head. She'd had reservations about accepting Richard's invitations. He was a private investigator and she was a part time thief. But Rachel wouldn't be a thief forever and she really enjoyed Richard's company. In a strange sort of way, they could speak without speaking. Rachel just felt drawn to Richard. They could understand each other.

"Yes," Richard shook his head to dispel the wisps of fog that were swarming his vision from the sides and working their way inward. "Sorry about that, Rachel," Richard said.

"It isn't a problem. I understand what its like to enjoy thinking. What were you thinking about?"

Richard enjoyed Rachel's company. Even if a relationship didn't work out – which none of them ever really had – he wanted to be Rachel's friend. She was a stimulating conversationalist and a sharp mind.

"I was just thinking about a lead that Gar and I picked up earlier today. I can worry about it later, though. You weren't done telling me about how your day has been."

Rachel didn't smile – that was a rare treat, but the currents in her eyes flashed with emotion. Richard thought it was happiness, amusement, and something else just below the surface that called to him. "You were listening?" She didn't doubt him; she was just surprised.

"I was multitasking," Richard shrugged. "You just got done telling me about Jessie's emotional breakdown over breaking up with her boyfriend?"

Rachel kept walking in a content manner. A gust of chill night air barreled down the path, sending dead foliage into a temporary vortex before they floated back to the ground. Richard braced himself for the onslaught whiled Rachel just continued smoothly. The air rammed into the pair and Richard suddenly wished he'd stolen Garfield's windbreaker when he wasn't looking.

Initially, the cold broke over Richard's body with no effect. Quickly, it started to seep through his clothes. It stared with his nose and fingers but soon burrowed into the folds of his sweater and shirt to bite, without mercy, into his flesh.

Richard sucked in a rattling breath. "How does that not bother you?"

"I was born in Alaska," Rachel responded while tucking a loose strand of her black tress behind her ear. "I spent a few years up there and then moved to California with my mom. Compared to an Alaskan winter, this is paradise," Rachel responded lightly. Richard nodded in her direction.

"So, Dick," Rachel asked after the wind finally stopped its assault on their bones, "tell me a little about your case."

"It really isn't as interesting as I make it seem. I just get a little involved in my work. Really, you weren't finished."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Dick, I've told you about my business, Jessie's breakdown, snippets of my childhood, and Taloose camping out on the fire escape. I feel like I'm talking too much. What's going on with you?"

"Well," Richard fished for something, compelled by Rachel's eyes. He'd been right when he'd though that he'd get lost or drown in her eyes. The violet was never the same color, darkening and flaring with the surrounding light or with Rachel's internal landscape. There was just a connection when Richard looked into Rachel's eyes. "Gar and I didn't get off on the best foot. You wouldn't know it by looking now, but we did not get along when we first met."

"He and I got paired up in Gotham City by the Chief of Police. You may or may not have heard mention on the news about a guy named Drake Moxley. He was a big gangster a few years back. Vice, black-market firearms, drive-by shootings, prostitution, jury tampering; Moxley did everything that has ever been determined illegal. A reporter friend of mine printed him as the Al Capone of the twentieth century."

The two continued along the path, the only sounds were Richard's voice and the crunch of leaves beneath their feet. "Gar didn't want to take anything seriously and we were dealing with murders who would shoot us and dump our bodies down sewer drains without losing any sleep. I guess if you asked Gar, he'd tell you that I was taking everything way too seriously. We ended up getting Moxley arrested. The last I heard, he's still swearing to kill us. He lost all of his power and influence because of us."

Rachel was slightly confused by what she had just heard. She hadn't spent all that much time around both Richard and Garfield, but they seemed to get along very well. "So, what made you and Gar finally work so well together?"

"We always worked well together," Richard corrected. "He thinks one way and I think another. Between the two of us, we touch on about everything. We have different work ethics though. Not only are our approaches different, but we also focus on different areas. The reason we got off to such a rocky start was that we both were trying to take charge. It took us a while to decide we were equal." Richard laughed as a slide show of images flashed through his mind.

"And the case you're working on now?" Rachel pressed. Richard noticed she was massaging her left wrist again.

"We're basically in a race, strange as that may seem. Have you seen any of the articles on The Raven?" Rachel froze temporarily. Richard didn't notice.

"I've heard of him," Rachel said slowly. "You're helping the police catch that guy?" Rachel put her hands in her pockets, maybe against the cold, Richard thought. That didn't add up. It hadn't bothered her earlier. The truth was that Rachel had noticed her nervous twitching and was trying to stop.

"The Raven's a woman," Richard corrected without thinking. A very attractive one, at that. That was a thought Richard decided to keep to himself.

"Okay, so what about something other than work?" Rachel tried to change the subject. Richard bit.

"That would require us to go way back," Richard drew out 'way', almost as if by drawing out the word he was dragging himself into the past. Or perhaps dragging the past to him. Richard shifted through his memories and almost decided that he'd rather not get into them. Still, Rachel had been so honest and open with him. "I became a private consultant in Gotham City straight out of high school," Richard ran a hand through his shaggy bangs and settled for rubbing the back of his neck. "I took a few online college courses when I had the time, but in Gotham there's always a need for good police and smart detectives."

Rachel nodded as she stepped over a root that was resting under the carpet of leaves. "Why didn't you go to college? Couldn't you have done more with a full education?"

"Maybe," Richard shrugged, "but I doubt it. I needed to get to work as soon as possible. You've obviously never been to Gotham City. It's nice enough during the day but at night the doors and windows had better be locked."

Rachel took her hands back out of her pockets and let them swing loosely by her side. "That's what the police force is for though," she pointed out. There was something Richard was leaving out. Rachel knew it and Richard knew she knew.

"The Gotham City Police is a big group. Just like every big city's police force there is a shadier element under the civic duty – corruption, bribery, racism. Drake Moxley was huge. There were wiretaps all over the place, his house and suspected business front were always under observation. Everybody knew that he was a mob leader. The only reason he never got caught was that he had so many police in his pocket or on his payroll."

Rachel slowed down a little and let her hand swing into Richard's. It was only a brief touch but Richard caught her hand and they continued walking. "You knew somebody like that," Rachel whispered while giving Richard's hand a comforting squeeze.

Richard didn't speak for a moment. "My mom and I were very close," he said slowly, as if the words pained him. "My dad was a police officer back in Gotham City. A crooked cop," Richard's free hand clenched into a tight fist and his knuckles turned white. "He killed her. Not directly but if it weren't for him, she wouldn't have killed herself. We hadn't gotten along before that but…" Richard stopped and reigned in the emotions. He'd only really talked about this with Garfield.

"After, you barely spoke?" Rachel asked softly. There was a certain understanding in her voice. A tone or word, maybe even a feeling, which made Richard feel like Rachel knew exactly what it was like to lose a loved one.

"Yeah. It was because of my dad that I didn't go to college. I wanted to make him and every other person like him pay – immediately. Immoral people who got rich and fat by letting murderers roam freely. Cowards without the guts to stand up for what is right. Dad hated private investigators. That was the main reason I became one."

Richard and Rachel continued in silence for the rest of the walk. A silent understanding between them. Richard thought it felt good. This kind of connection was something he hadn't experienced since his mother's death.

**XXXXX**

**Next Update:** Wednesday, September 13, 2006

**XXXXX**


	14. The Change

Hmm, what interesting little note can I leave this week? I really don't know. For those who care, I have a cold. Go me! To add stupid to unfortunate, I've refused to take it easy and say "yeah, I'm sick." Really, doing that would be academic suicide. So much make-up work. :shudderes: I think I'll let you all go now. If you read this note, yeah... Enjoy this weeks update. We get to look at character development. Whoop!

**Disclaimer: **Balkoth does not own Teen Titans. Balkoth owns very little, to be perfectly honest. This is why I am so proud of the things that I do own. One such example is the writings and plot of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. If you enjoy please say so. If you hate please say so. If you steal, that is really uncool.

**XXXXX**

The Change

Birds were chirping the next morning and the sound drifted up through the window. The only other sounds were the dependable click of a watch as the seconds drifted by and a deep-throated snore. The drab walls of the claustrophobic office were painted a dull beige that was slowly giving way to the dry wall underneath. A mahogany desk with a back left leg slightly shorter than all the others was in plain view of the door while a small, more cluttered and inhabited looking metal desk was off to the side facing the window.

Usually, Richard would already be behind his immaculate wooden desk – a newspaper or two already read through – when Garfield entered carrying breakfast from Bruegger's or some other store. Today was a little different. The door swung open and stopped only after banging into the wall. Garfield jerked his head off Richard's desk and forced his blurry eyes to see who had just entered the office with so much obvious enthusiasm. Garfield had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't still asleep.

"Morning, Gar!" Richard called while tossing a sesame-seed bagel with cucumbers, tomatoes, and sprouts to his partner. The wrapped bagel landed two inches from Garfield's stunned face. "How are you?"

Richard took a moment to study Garfield before deciding that he wasn't doing well. Garfield's clothes were ruffled and stained with either liquor, vomit, or a combination of the two. The usual electric spark was absent from his eyes, his hair resembled a nest of thatch, and there was a slight pulsing in his left temple. Richard had a general idea of what had happened.

Garfield opened his mouth to speak but only a dry rasp managed to escape. On the second try, he managed, "Softer."

Richard sighed and lowered his voice a little. "How was last night?" Richard knew that Garfield had gone to _Big Moe's_ to do a little digging but he didn't have any details. When Garfield finally managed an intelligent sentence, maybe they could do a little work. Still, there was no harm in giving the poor guy a chance to recuperate.

"Taylor bachelor party," Garfield mumbled before letting his pounding head drop to the desk. A pitiful moan was his only reaction to slamming his head onto the desk.

Richard decided that Garfield had probably meant something along the lines of; "Taylor had a bachelor party." Richard closed his eyes and let the fact that his partner was too incapacitated to use verbs properly soak in. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him that much.

"Really?" Richard asked while moving over to Garfield's desk and sitting down. "How was that?" While Richard waited for Garfield to process the question and piece together an answer, he started gathering up one of Garfield's unfinished solitaire games.

"We were pouring champagne over each other," Garfield mumbled, his voice not quite certain if it wanted to sound miserable or ecstatic.

Richard crinkled his nose briefly. The impression that Richard was getting was that Garfield was wasted, and it appeared that after they poured champagne over each other they'd wrestled in dirt. Either Garfield had lost or the losers were in a very sorry state.

"You had fun, then?" Richard asked while shuffling the cards so he could set up his own game.

"I think so," Garfield responded while raising his head to look at Richard. "There might have been strippers there. I don't remember." Garfield lowered his head to the desk again, this time a little more slowly.

Richard chuckled good-naturedly at Garfield's behavior. "Was the bachelor party before or after you went to _Big Moe's_?" Richard started setting up a solitaire game while Garfield fumbled through his pockets for an Aspirin.

An hour later, Garfield was a little better for wear. "Here's the thing, Dick. Some Hispanic dude just inherited the last artifact and about two hundred grand from relatives he didn't know he had. There's this brand new house being built. The window The Raven's likely to go through opens up on moving day. Everything's going to move around and an extra body won't be noticed. Moving day is gonna be a while from now, though."

Richard polished off his bagel and darted his tongue around his lips. Then, he tilted his head back in thought before crumpling up the bagel wrapper and tossing it into the trashcan next to the door. "So, we need to find the plot the house is getting built on and talk to this guy. Do we know where he lives or when he's moving?"

"Not a clue," Garfield admitted with a regretful shrug.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Garfield asked with raised eyebrows. "Dick, are you feeling all right?" Garfield slowly eased himself out of his chair and placed his palm on Richard's forehead. Richard just smirked because he thought he knew what Garfield was getting at.

"I think you're sick, dude. You were cheerful this morning, you brought me breakfast," Garfield gestured to his still unopened bagel before continuing. "You didn't yell at me for being hung-over, you didn't single-mindedly ask me about what I learned last night, and you just said it was okay that we were missing a vital piece of information. I think somebody is having a positive influence on you," Garfield declared while crossing his arms across his chest.

Richard chuckled. "Since when did you count as a positive influence, Gar?"

"Not me," Garfield said with a sad shake of his head, which solicited a wince because of his still pounding headache, "Rachel."

Richard nodded his head absently and only the faint twist of his lips betrayed his thoughts. Garfield might be right. That was a scary thought. Rachel was definitely having some effect on Richard. Richard would have liked to know what exactly it was. The answer was proving allusive.

"What's his name?" Richard asked. Even if they didn't know where the guy lived, if they had his name, they could try and find something out.

Garfield looked at Richard for a moment before remembering whom Richard was asking about. Then he did the most bizarre thing. Garfield took off his left shoe, followed by his sock. Garfield then proceeded to turn the sock inside out. Written in smeared black ink on the fabric was a name. "Miguel Rodriguez-Herrera," Garfield read. "Wow, these guys have awesome names!" Then Garfield replaced his footwear.

"Gar," Richard started, "what position were you in where it was convenient for you to write that _inside_ of your sock?" Even as Richard asked, he decided it was a question best left unanswered. Garfield seemed to feel the same because he didn't respond.

"We're hitting the phone books?" Garfield asked with a resigned sigh while beginning to unwrap his bagel.

"Are you crazy, Gar?" Richard responded with surprise ringing in his voice. That was something new. "Not only would that take way too long but there are probably quite a few Miguel Herrera's in Jump City. Besides, you need to sleep a little," Richard finished. There was no point in running themselves ragged. They knew who had the artifact and surrounding circumstances. There was no way The Raven knew more than them. Besides, Garfield was really annoying when he had a hangover and hadn't gotten enough sleep.

Garfield looked more and more like a living Whack-A-Mole with every word that came out of Richard's mouth. This was not the Richard Grayson he knew. It was a nice improvement from the original but it was also freaky. Then his eyes began to focus and a knowing grin crept across his face. Garfield started to rub his hands together like a greedy child. "Sleep can wait," Garfield said as zeal overcame his headache. Garfield turned curious eyes toward Richard, "how was last night for you and Rachel?"

"It was fine," Richard said slowly. This reaction was really unnerving. Garfield didn't usually look this enthusiastic about something Richard was doing. One instance of Garfield's enthusiasm that stood out had been during the police barbecue four years ago. That had ended in one of Garfield's practical jokes and Richard being chased by a liter of teething puppies while covered in gravy.

"And?" Garfield pressed while leaning forward in his chair.

"We had dinner, saw a movie, and went for a walk. We talked a little but mostly there was just a really peaceful silence."

Garfield kept staring at Richard with widened green eyes, waiting for Richard to say more. For a guy so obsessed with knowing everything, Richard was really talented at being vague and keeping secrets. Richard just smirked to himself and kept his silence while replaying last night. They had just clicked. There had been something intangible and very strong and it was still there. "Now," Garfield began to ask. Just from the tone of his voice, Richard knew what was coming. "When you say you went for a walk, do you mean you went for a walk or that you…"

"We were just walking, Gar," Richard breathed out. Sometimes Garfield could be so… Garfield-like.

"If you had done more than walk, would you tell me?"

"No."

Garfield shrugged and started in on his bagel. "You're no fun, Dick." Garfield said after swallowing his food. "So, when you go to see Rachel what are your plans?" Garfield asked while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Richard just glared at Garfield behind his sunglasses. This was going to be a very long morning.

**XXXXX**

**Next Update:** Wednesday, September 20, 2006

**XXXXX **


	15. The Inheritance

Well, what a joyous day! The dividers are working again after many weeks of the dreaded emboldened X's. I'm in a fairly good mood. Now, I'm assuming that about ninety percent of this audience has seen the new Teen Titans movie. I won't spoil anything for the people who have yet to see it but I am looking forward to working with some of that new material in future works. That said, the movie wasn't that good in my view. I'm not talking about some of the personal opinion issues that seem to have been stirred up by some of the content in the movie. I'm talking about how forced it felt. A movie created because a loyal fan base demanded it. The quality wasn't very good, in so far as plot. There were some touching moments but really, some of the scenes were just so ridiculous. Sad that they had to go out on such a note as that. ( If you haven't seen it yet; you should. My opinion is only worth so much.) Where the show has not yet tread, the members of the fanfiction community can take their readers on magical journies. Anyway, here we have another post of Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. We know what Richard and Garfield know; now its time to see what The Raven knows.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. It could happen, but I doubt it will. The plot and OC's are mine. The cannon characters are not. Clear?

* * *

The Inheritance

It turns out that The Raven knew just as much as Logan and Grayson about the last artifact. At first, Richard had been right. The Raven had been in the dark. She had gotten lucky and wasn't in the dark anymore. Rachel had been hiding out in Miguel's apartment after her date with Richard. Earlier the same day, Richard had entered his office to find Garfield asleep on his desk. Her visit had become metaphorical gold when the phone rang. Rachel had been sitting cross-legged on a weathered brown couch jotting down poetry in a notebook. Miguel's apartment was pretty small and his occasional interjections of "uh ha" or "yes" traveled well through the three-room apartment.

As Rachel continued to write, Miguel's voice started to rise. Rachel stopped her pen after finishing a stanza and threw a skeptical look toward the door that led to her friend. This phone call sounded different from what Rachel had expected. All of the conversations Rachel had heard between Miguel and his family had ended in shouting matches. Since Miguel only gave the number to family members, this call seemed out of place. The conversation wasn't the right volume and it sounded more amazed than angry. Something was up.

Just as Rachel was unfolding her legs and placing down her notebook; Miguel bounded into the room wearing a smile that should have split his face. The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet and was currently the epitome of euphoria. "Somebody died?" Rachel asked with a dry smile, poking fun at Miguel's current attitude.

Miguel's smile faltered for a second before springing back onto his face. "Sí," he said with only the tinniest trace of grief seeping into his tone. "Tuvé grande tía, Maricarmen. Ella esta muerto."

"Speak English, Miguel," Rachel sighed after trying to translate for a moment. Miguel and Rachel had been sparring with each other through language ever since they met. Both had learned something but Rachel sometimes had difficulty grasping everything Miguel said, especially when he said it so quickly.

"My great aunt died."

Rachel would have normally felt awful after learning that one of her scathing remarks was true. Miguel didn't seem upset so she pushed aside her guilt for later. Rachel quirked an eyebrow at Miguel. "Is that the good part?"

Miguel rolled his eyes and tucked his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. "I didn't even know I _had_ a great aunt! I've never met her!" Miguel started pacing in tight circles and Rachel was forcibly reminded of a trapped animal. She should have been used to it: Miguel always paced when he was doing a lot of thinking. Regardless of how well it helped Miguel think, Rachel always felt uneasy about it.

"Whoever she was," Miguel continued, unaware that he was, yet again, causing Rachel discomfort, "she left me a lot."

Rachel leaned back against the couch. "That's wonderful, Miguel." If there was anybody who needed a break in life it was Miguel. The boy was nineteen and disowned by his family. He deserved this.

"You don't get it," Miguel stopped his pacing and looked at Rachel. "I don't want it. I'm not always happy with how my life has turned out but at least I know that I've earned it." Miguel started pacing again and withdrew his hands from his pockets so that he could wave them in the air. "The woman left me money I haven't earned and old heirlooms that I don't want."

Something in Rachel stirred as she heard that. It wasn't something of Rachel. While Trigon the Terrible had said that his control over the mortal plain was limited, the demon hadn't wasted any time staking out a little piece of Rachel's mind so that he could keep tabs on her. Usually, the demon stayed quiet. When he didn't, Rachel was made painfully aware of it. When the demon commented on her life, her friends, her date, all he said was negative. When he commented on their deal and the necessity for her to find the last piece of the artifact, Rachel couldn't hear her own thoughts and that was what was happening now.

"**I sense it on him. This mortal child knows where the last piece of my portal is."** Trigon's thunderous voice flew through Rachel's mind.

Rachel instantly felt lost and tried to find herself. She wasn't in Miguel's apartment anymore. Her body was there but her mind, her mind was in another plane entirely. The surroundings were blurred. Different nations, different planets, different universes, even different realities all flew about her in a vortex of color, shattering any semblance of normality that may have remained.

"_Portal?"_ a weak voice called in response. It was a sound; just on the edge of hearing and it took a moment for Rachel to realize that the voice was her own.

"**The artifacts I have charged you with collecting serve as a focus for my power. When the three are reunited, I will be able to take full form and exercise the full extent of my abilities. Only once I am on the same plane as the deceased may I reanimate the dead," **Trigon answered as calmly as he could. Rachel could feel herself growing annoyed and knew that it was only excess from what the demon was feeling.

The voice from before, the quiet unimportant one was raising objections to that. Something about how it was a bad idea to bring the root of all evil into the same plane as innocent people. An image of Arella's smiling face formed in Rachel's mind's eye and quickly banished the voice back to its corner. How could it be a bad idea? Rachel wanted to have a mother again. Trigon was being honest and sincere. He'd fulfill his promise. If Rachel had been paying closer attention to her own emotions, she would have realized that they were being drowned out by Trigon. The demon was overflowing with an emotion too powerful to describe but most closely related to absolute and total malice.

"**Ask the boy about the inheritance."** The godly voice rumbled into silence and Rachel found herself back in her own body. That wasn't the strange part of it. Miguel was sitting on the couch next to her. In less than a millisecond, Rachel found her mind flooded with memories of how he got there. They'd been talking but Rachel hadn't been in control. Still, the actions and the words were just what she would have said and done.

"You're right, Rachel," Miguel admitted, "I do deserve this. All about karma or whatever else you were talking about."

Rachel picked up the conversation without any problems. She remembered everything leading up to this. Rachel didn't even know that she hadn't been in control. "You said earlier that you've already picked out a place to build a house?"

"No. Not really. There are a few places that I've seen and liked in the past. Now that I can actually do something about it, I think I could find a little space to set up a house."

Both Rachel and Miguel jumped when loud banging shot through the apartment. "Roth! Get out here right now!" The banging started up again and Rachel sunk down into the couch cushions. Miguel just laughed and smirked at Rachel.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Miguel asked between the rapid-fire knocking.

"When you were sleeping on my couch with a broken arm?" Rachel responded with a fake show of having a hard time remembering.

"That one," Miguel nodded. The words weren't heard over Taloose's attempts to break down the door but the nod conveyed the point. "I seem to remember telling you that I owed you huge." In response to Rachel's nonplused look he finished; "How about I help you out with our lovely landlord?"

Rachel smiled wryly. "You would do that?"

"Sure, why not?" Miguel responded with a shrug. "You are one of the nicest people I have ever met and I owe you. The roly-poly out there wants to steal what little money you have and run you out onto the streets."

"I'd appreciate it, Miguel. I really would," Rachel half-shouted over the sound of Taloose's renewed assault. "I'm not quite sure if you would be making up the debt I owe you or putting me into your debt."

"Really?" Miguel laughed while scribbling out a check that he could pay, for once. "There are two things you could help me with."

Rachel arched a delicate eyebrow and snatched the check away. "What?"

"You minored in architecture, didn't you? You designed your club. I was wondering if you could help me design this new house and give me a realistic estimate." In response to Rachel's questioning look, Miguel pointed to his arm. More specifically, the color of his arm. Racism was alive and well in parts of California and Miguel wanted to have a figure before entering negotiations to make sure he wasn't being had. "I could also use some financial advice on investing."

"Count me in." In the back of Rachel's mind, Trigon stirred. If Rachel designed the building, she would know where everything was. Artifacts included.

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**Next Update:** Wednesday, September 27, 2006

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	16. Miguel Herrera

I'm not really sure what to say this week. Hmm, usually I manage to waste your time a little before the story. Anyway, thank you a ton to my reviewers. Encouragement, compliments, and critique are always extremely welcome. Enjoy, and please do remember to hit the nice little review button once you have finished.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own the Teen Titans. Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters is mine. Any characters you do not recognize as cannon are mine. The plot is mine. The English language and the world in general are not. Wouldn't that be something? Me own the world. If you like the idea of Balkoth acting as your supreme overlord, tell me.

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Miguel Herrera

Time has a way of defying every rule people try to apply to it. Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan were dealing with one of the most perplexing cases they had ever seen. Time should have been going slowly. Days where no new information was acquired should have dragged by second by agonizing second. Days where new information was acquired should have flown by too quickly for anything productive to be done until the next day. Why then, had they reached the third week of November and everything moved by as if nothing mattered?

It was snowing. Small white specks sailed out of a warm gray sky, thickening the layer of powder on the streets. The specks that did not reach the ground peppered the shoulders of everyone outside. Garfield was shivering even in the four layers of shirts and jackets covering his frame. His bronze nose had turned into a cherry and the way his shoulders were hunched allowed the snow to collect on his back until it looked like the Humpback of Notre Dame was walking down the street.

Richard was out with Rachel today. Garfield had no problem with that. He'd gotten to know Rachel pretty well through Richard and had met her on several occasions. The woman was kind, had a knife for a tongue, and seemed to be just the person Richard needed in his life. Somebody who was serious and intelligent but somebody who could get him to drop the robot façade he so often adopted. They had sort of become friends.

Garfield had gotten a lead. Miguel Rodriguez-Herrera had made quite a name for himself in the weeks following his inheritance. Apparently, now that he had money, the Latino was investing wisely and donating generously to pretty much every charity in existence. Despite this, Herrera had been difficult to find. There were twenty-seven different Miguel Hererra's in Jump City. Garfield and Richard had been looking for him when they weren't taking other cases and it had finally paid off.

Garfield stopped at the corner of the street and looked both ways before jogging across. Garfield stopped when he got to the sidewalk again. Here he was. The building in front of him looked like any other small business. Brick walls, a white sign with "open" printed in large red letters, and a lot of regular customers but never anybody new.

Garfield pushed open the glass door and sighed as the heat seeped out toward him. A light bell tinkled as the door closed and Garfield took a moment to look around the joined coffeehouse and bookstore. Garfield scanned the crowd and suddenly wished that Richard weren't off on a date. Richard was better at this crowd surfing thing. Sure, if Garfield found Herrera he could work something out. The danger was that Garfield didn't want to attract attention to himself by asking questions and he didn't know how to recognize who he was looking for.

A hearty laugh sounded from a corner and Garfield spared a glance over to the maroon booth. Then he did a double take. There were three people at the booth. One of them was a Hispanic male, about twenty years old. He was the source of the laughter. There was one woman who Garfield recognized as Rachel. There was no mistaking such unique eyes. The third person, Garfield couldn't recognize for a moment. Then he saw the sunglasses hanging out of the man's breast pocket and tried to imagine the face without such a bright smile. It was hard to believe that Garfield was looking at Richard.

It was easy to see why the third person at the table was laughing. Garfield would have. It was just such a nice picture. Rachel had out a pencil, a protractor, a ruler, and a sheet of paper. Richard had mentioned something about how Rachel had studied architecture and picked up a hush-hush job. Her brow was furrowed and a small bit of her tongue was sticking out between her lips. Richard had a manila folder open in his lap and was holding a pen loosely in his grip while looking at the teenager across from him as if in a daze.

Garfield rubbed his hands a few times, afraid that there might be permanent tissue damage. Then he walked over to the table and stood in silence for a moment.

The first person to notice him was the teenager who had been laughing earlier. He raised an eyebrow at Garfield, and, in response, Garfield pointed a lazy finger at Richard. The boy made a silent "oh" with his mouth and slid over to make room for Garfield. Only when Garfield ordered a cup of de-café did Rachel and Richard notice his presence.

"Hey, Gar," Richard said while putting down his pen. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just visiting you guys really fast," Garfield responded. "I actually came here looking for Miguel." Rachel raised an eyebrow in a mocking query and Richard smirked. "What?"

"I'm Miguel." Garfield jumped when a voice spoke from next to him. Garfield turned to the kid he was sitting next to.

"Miguel Rodriguez-Herrera?" Garfield asked in disbelief.

The boy grinned impishly before answering. "The one and only." Miguel leaned against the chair. "Dick here was just getting over the fact that the person he has been looking far has been right under his nose." Garfield shot a startled glance over to Richard. He'd been getting over it? Richard had been smiling, maybe even laughing. It was going to take a long time for Garfield to get used to this more laid-back Richard.

Richard shook his head ruefully while tightening the grip on his pen. Richard was working on a hit and run case about five days old. An obnoxious woman, Jessica Drebuad, with enough money to bribe away feelings of ill will had suffered a fender-bender and was resolutely trying to turn the city upside down. That was only one of the many cases that Logan and Grayson had been working on over the past weeks.

"Gar," Garfield looked over at Rachel when she spoke. "I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Miguel." Garfield heard Miguel chime in with a "Nice to meet you" but was still reeling. All of the work they had done and the person had been inches away from them.

"Miguel," Garfield started after glancing at a still smirking Richard. What was so funny about it? There was a type of irony in the whole situation but it was also really embarrassing. Even as Garfield thought about it, a smile started to form on his lips. Okay, it was a little funny. "Has Dick gotten around to telling you why we were looking for you?"

"I think he was just getting around to it," Miguel stated lightly. It sounded as if he was just commenting on the weather but there was a mocking undertone. Garfield looked at the kid, struck by the weird feeling that he knew this boy. They were kindred spirits.

"Right," Richard cut in. Rachel looked up from her work to see what was going on around the table. This felt important. Rachel wasn't sure if she knew it or if Trigon knew it but a critical moment was approaching. "Miguel, you were left a lot of things by your aunt."

"Great aunt," Miguel corrected with a flourish of his hand.

"Great aunt," Richard agreed with a hasty nod of his head. "One of those things,"

"Was a really bizarre stone hand with nice sharp claws and a screw attached to the bottom? What of it?" Miguel interrupted. Garfield looked over at Richard to see if he'd given Miguel that information. Richard just shrugged. Miguel caught the transaction. "Rachel and I already talked about that. Is it some sort of collector's item?"

"In a sense," Richard answered while sparing a glance toward Rachel. How had she known about the artifact before him? Maybe Miguel had brought it up. That seemed to make sense.

"You read the papers, Miguel?" Garfield asked while digging through one of his pockets. He pulled out three pieces of paper. Two of them were articles on The Raven and the heist she was involved in. Once Miguel glanced over those, Garfield handed him an old piece of parchment. An ancient yellow crust had settled over the durable medium. Drawn on one side, symbols of a long lost language serving as annotations, was a clawed hand supported by a pillar covered in stairs. A small stone was suspended above the hand, lines drawn from the stone to each tipped fingernail and one bold line moving straight to the center of the palm.

"This is what The Raven is collecting. We don't know what it is," Garfield pointed to a particularly ominous looking symbol that most closely resembled an S, "but that doesn't look like a good thing." The deformed letter was the only symbol still in color, everything else having long ago faded to a pale yellow. The S was still showing in blazing detail, as if on fire, while the red ink still gave the impression of being wet.

"Where is that hand?" Richard asked from across the table. Miguel raised his head to look at Richard but he never got a chance to respond.

"The artifact is in safely in Miguel's lock-box until he moves. After he's moved there are all sorts of place for him to put it." Richard nodded toward Rachel to show he understood.

"Miguel," Richard said, turning his attention to the Latino, "we think that the second you move that thing somebody is going to try to steal it."

Miguel shared a looked with Rachel that clearly showed that both of them were currently doubting the investigator's sanity. Who would want to steal an old rock, after all? "All right," Rachel said, "so what would you propose he do?"

"Well," Garfield spoke to Miguel, "we think that while it's in a lock-box there won't be any trouble. All we ask is that when you move you invite us to the house-warming party."

The snow plummeted from a deep gray sky and buried the shoulders of everybody outside. While the children who had managed to get a day off school ran to the shelter of electric heaters, X-box's, DVD's, and hot cocoa, the wind picked up and the hail started to fall.

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**Next Update:** Wednesday, October 4, 2006

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	17. The House

Well, this didn't turn out quite as poorly as I gave it credit for. At least that's what my beta said. To be honest, I had to fight to write this. "Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters" is a very enjoyable tale to write (and hopefully to read). That said, writer's block hits hard and when least expected. I had entire scenes plotted out in my head. Dialog that I felt would be absolutely _perfect_ in later posts. I have the ending right up here :_taps temple with forefinger_:. Having everything worked out to the last detail, knowing exactly what the last paragraph of our story would be, I had no clue how I was to satisfactoraly connect the dots. Once I finished this post I hit the ground running and didn't look back. What I'm saying is "enjoy" and I'll see you next week. If this wasn't as good as usual, I really do apologize profusely. Next week, I feel, will really make up for any short comings in this one. And don't worry those of you I managed to scare with all this talk about the end. We will still be in business until sometime early to mid November. After that, who knows?

**Disclaimer: **Balkoth does not have ownership of the Teen Titans. I am borrowing their characters for a bit._  
_

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The House_  
_

_Mr. Miguel Rodriguez-Herrera_  
_ requests the honor of your presence_  
_ at the warming of his abode_  
_ on Wednesday, the twenty-fourth of January_  
_two thousand and two_  
_ at six thirty in the afternoon_  
_ 137 Hooper Street_  
_Jump City, California 94162_

Richard refolded the powder blue paper and slipped it into his pocket. Richard and Garfield were meeting back up at the office before heading over to Miguel's new home. Earlier that day, Richard had solved a kidnapping case that the police had been having a hard time with. Police Chief Gregory Skinner and he had one of their nice heart-to-heart chats afterward. The boy, Bradley Shawn, had faked his own kidnapping with the help of his friends to get under his parent's skin.

Richard didn't know what Garfield had done all day but it was about time for him to show up. This was the big case, the trickiest thing that they had worked on for some time now. And Garfield was late. Surprise. This afternoon and later tonight was when it would be easiest for The Raven to strike. Richard checked his hip to make sure that his gun was firmly attached and well concealed. It was a comfort for Richard to know that he was armed. The psychological profile that Garfield had pulled on The Raven didn't suggest that she would be armed with anything lethal. Still, a small comfort was always welcome.

Rachel didn't think much of the habit. Rachel was against guns simply on principle and had tried to get Richard to stop carrying one all the time. That hadn't worked out very well. It had been three days before Christmas though Rachel refused to acknowledge the holiday. Richard knew that Rachel's mom had died in a car crash. He suspected that her resistance to a religiously affiliated holiday stemmed somewhere from that event. It wasn't unheard of for people to either embrace or reject a religion after such a life-altering event.

ooooo

Richard grinned half-heartedly as he accepted the colorfully wrapped box. It was a simple wrapping job but great care had been taken with it. The gleaming blue paper was even and none of the tape was visible.

Richard, Garfield, Miguel, and Rachel had all gathered together toward the end of December to celebrate. Three of them were Christians so while it was never called a Christmas celebration it was one by everything but a technicality. While there were warm smiles all around, the air between Rachel and Richard was crisper, more polite, than usual. Only days earlier, they had gotten into a fight, not exactly their first but definitely their most heated. While Garfield had forced an apology out of Richard for being so stupid within twenty-four hours, there was still a clipped feeling to all of their interactions.

Garfield and Miguel had taken to mock wrestling, completely unaware that they were in a room where one wrong word could start a world war. The sparkling paper fell off to reveal a red cardboard box that looked like it could be used to hold jewelry.

Richard looked up at Rachel and words traveled directly from mind to mind. Richard's smile became more genuine as he inclined his head in a slight bow. Rachel had made a very powerful point, this time without shouting. Richard placed the red box of blanks on the floor. "Now," he said, opening the box and taking out some of the mock projectiles. Then he slid the loaded clip out of his gun and replaced the live ammunition. "Where's my real present?"

ooooo

That had been a magical moment. Relationships are formed and maintain by compromise. Without doing anything, Rachel had communicated with Richard in a way that left both slightly happy. "I don't like that you carry a weapon but I can't stop you. But, if you carry it around loaded, you'll make a mistake and someone will get hurt." Richard had learned well that day. He had put live ammo back in the gun the next day but had not fired the weapon since.

Richard shook his sleeve out of the way so that he could check his watch for the seventh time in just as many minutes. He was going to _kill_ Garfield if he didn't show up soon! As if he had read Richard's mind, Garfield flung open the door and collapsed against the doorframe breathing heavily.

"I'm… not… late," Garfield managed to choke out the three words around his body's desperate attempt to get oxygen. Garfield looked like he's just run a marathon and it occurred to Richard that his partner had run up the stairs instead of using the elevator; Garfield thought Richard would leave without him and had wanted to catch him on the stairs.

Richard nodded. "True," he said while walking out the door, "but you almost were."

As Richard walked away he heard Garfield call after him. "Come on! I just got here; give me half a second to make sure I don't get hypoxemic respiratory failure!"

Richard's lips curved upward on instinct. There was no harm in making sure that Garfield's body had enough air. He waited exactly half a second before continuing down the hall and entering the stairwell. Richard wasn't overly concerned about Garfield being able to catch up. Garfield would just take the elevator and meet Richard at the bottom.

The walk down the stairs was uneventful, as was the drive out to Miguel's new home. Once they got there, Richard and Garfield started to have a very eventful evening. Miguel had not vouched for a huge house. The Hispanic teen would never be caught dead being that wasteful with finances. Because of that, his house was not very big. To hear Miguel say it, he was just one person and didn't need a home big enough to shelter twenty. Of course, that was a view that many of the more affluent individuals in Jump City did not agree with.

Reporters for magazines and newspapers were swarming all over the place. Most were simply doing human-interest stories, but the end result was a media turnout that was bigger than Richard was comfortable with for something that wasn't that big a deal. As Richard drove up, Garfield sitting next to him eating a bag of Cheetos that had been in the glove compartment too long to be count as food anymore, he silently cursed his luck. Miguel's desire to keep things small was supposed to make it harder for strangers to show up today. It seemed to have done just the opposite.

The lawn was only just being to take root and grow on its own through the dirt and clay strewn earth after construction. The house was a light green with a dark brown door, blending well into the many trees Miguel had refused to cut down. On the second floor, just outside what Richard knew to be Miguel's bedroom, was a rough stone balcony that overlooked the city lights that were just beginning to flicker to life below.

Richard parked the car and Garfield and he got out. No one paid them much attention. There were too many people here, both invited and not, for special notice to be given to individuals. Garfield started shifting his gaze over the terrain, looking for one specific person. He didn't find who he was looking for and Garfield gradually wandered off.

Richard felt a twinge of annoyance start to prickle at the base of his skull as Garfield exited his peripheral vision. They were here on a job; they weren't here to socialize! Richard darted his eyes around the ground, looking for any woman who didn't seem to fit in. In the sea of people, he didn't think he'd have much luck. Richard continued to look until his gaze passed over a woman dressed in blue.

He smiled as he recognized Rachel. She was working her way toward the house, obviously hoping for a smaller crowd inside, and Richard moved to follow her. Richard reprimanded himself as with every step he took. He'd been so bothered by Garfield's lack of focus and here he was doing the same thing.

Richard saw Rachel enter the house and he bounded up the stairs once he reached them. Inside was truly magical. Rachel had done a terrific job in constructing the house so that two-story building felt much larger, so much more open. Light flowed freely from fixtures in the ceiling and windows and small pockets of space that Miguel had used to put up different works of art. Even if the building itself was small, it was designed with the open air of a mansion.

Richard couldn't see Rachel. The fact of the matter was that there were just as many people inside the building as outside it. If only they knew how much harm they were doing. Richard still couldn't find Rachel. In the end, he decided that was for the best. After all, Richard was on a job. He needed to catch The Raven, whoever she was, and bring her to justice.

Richard fought his way through the people who were mindlessly meandering around the place. Why they were there was anybody's guess. Miguel hadn't invited this many people but there were too many people here who shouldn't be. Richard had thought about calling the police and getting them to disperse the extra bodies but hadn't for two reasons. One of them was that Gregory Skinner was not likely to be in the mood to do Richard any favors. The second, and most important, was that Richard did not, under any circumstance, want to scare off The Raven. She needed to come here tonight and she needed to be caught.

Richard finally managed to reach the stairs. The short spiral shot up at one corner of the house and went to the second floor. The richly polished wood and lavish red carpet that covered all but the outmost inch or two of every stair hadn't been used very much yet. It looked like most of the people had been content to stay outside or on the bottom floor – there were only a few soft impressions in the carpet as opposed to the reckless pounding by dozens of heavy feet.

Richard walked up the stairs with a growing sense of dread descending on him. Richard wasn't sure why but there was a tangible evilness to the air. Richard started for where Miguel had hidden the artifact as soon as possible. There was no way that a person could find it easily. They'd have to look for a long time.

Richard walked into Miguel's room and went past the large painting on the wall opposite Miguel's bed. There was a wall safe behind it but Richard knew that it was empty. The artifact was hidden somewhere else.

Richard strode over to the bathroom and entered. The spotlessness of the place made his eyes hurt. What this bathroom needed was a few towels strewn across the floor or a trashcan that obviously needed to be emptied. Richard crossed to the toilet and picked up the tank lid. Underneath the dull red float that bobbed up and down as the toilet was in use sat a Tupperware box containing a stone hand with pointed nails. The last piece of The Raven's puzzle. She hadn't been here yet. Richard sighed as he put the tank lid back on.

Back on the ground floor, Garfield had just helped himself to a beer from out of the fridge. Technically, he wasn't allowed to but what Richard didn't know wouldn't kill either of them. Garfield caught a glimpse of Rachel leaving the house in a rush. His interest was peaked at that. Had Richard done something stupid – again? Garfield put down his half-finished beer and followed Rachel. Richard could keep guard over an old statue without help. Garfield thought that Rachel deserved precedence.

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**Next Update: **Wednesday, October 11, 2006

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	18. The Portal

Well, my beta had a few things to say about this. One was that this post needed to be read twice so that the first could just be to enjoy the writing and the story and the second time to place some distance between the story so that areas for improvment could be identified. I hope you enjoy this post as much as I enjoyed writing it. Really, this was fun.

**Disclaimer:** Okay. Balkoth has yet to aquire the legal rights to Teen Titans. Believe it or not, DC comics and Cartoon Network have proved very reluctant to pass ownership of their wonderful creation to me. Thus, here I am. The plot is mine. Any characters you do not recognize as cannon are mine. But this is fanfiction for a reason: Alas, I am but a humble fan.

* * *

The Portal

Garfield jogged across the red earth, trying to get to the car but running into person after person. By the fifth time he ran into somebody Garfield was convinced that they were getting in his way on purpose. The idea was completely ludicrous, even by Garfield's standards. Still, there was something about the amount of people he hit that didn't seem natural. There was something wrong, something else, in the air. It was not city smog, though that was present, but a feeling. Garfield felt tired and kept tripping over small things. He kept trying to remember something but forgot what he was trying to recall.

Once Garfield reached the car he started to pat down his pockets, looking for keys. He realized too late that they were in the house with Richard. Garfield heard an engine somewhere turn over as a car came to life. Garfield took off at a sprint down the gravel road for the nearest intersection. He needed a taxi or else he couldn't do anything.

Garfield couldn't really explain why he felt that following Rachel right now was so important. It didn't seem like the notion completely belonged to him. Usually Richard was the one who obsessed about Rachel. There was something in his head telling him it wasn't important, but another part of his brain insisted that it was.

A car drove past him as he ran. Garfield didn't bother to look at it. It was obvious that the car was Rachel's purple rental. Garfield continued to run until he reached a more trafficked street. "Taxi!" Garfield yelled as soon as he saw one of the yellow cabs. None stopped. "TAXI!" Garfield yelled again, becoming desperate for a reason he couldn't quite grasp. There was something slipping through his fingers. He could feel his mind groping for it but not quite connecting the dots and Garfield knew that he would soon lose the moment forever in the mist that had sprung up in his head.

Garfield started to panic as he pivoted on the spot, looking for any way that he could follow Rachel. He needed to follow Rachel; there was something important that Garfield almost knew and Rachel was involved with it.

An old man, supporting himself with a cane and walking as if with a bad hip was opening the door to a taxi nearby. Garfield didn't bother stopping to think about what he was doing. "Drive!" Garfield shouted at the driver as soon as he had roughly pushed the man out of the way. "I'll tell you where to go but drive!" Garfield felt as if possessed. This was his body, his voice, his general mind set. He did, after all, feel guilty that he'd needed to push down that old man to get the taxi. But there was something off. Something not right.

Garfield felt like there was something in his head that wasn't supposed to be there. As the terrified driver steered the cab through the crowded streets of Jump City during rush hour, Garfield tried to figure out what was going on. Pieces started to click together in Garfield's head as the lights flashed by the window and the sound of screeching brakes of honked horns registered with his ears only after the sounds had long since passed.

Garfield had devoted just as much time to The Raven case as Richard had – even if it didn't always look like it. The Raven was a woman in her early twenties, was athletic, liked blue, liked ravens, had a reason to want to collect things for a cult, and the rest slipped away before Garfield could pinpoint it. He knew that right in front of him, right where he had never bothered to look before, was the answer Richard and he had been searching for all along.

Garfield continued to give directions to the shaking driver in a loud growl that he had used on Halloween as a kid. The voice was his but at the same time there was a darkness to it that fun-loving Garfield Logan could never have managed. Garfield was giving directions to Rachel's apartment, all the while struggling with the fog that had sprung up in his mind and was saturating his most basic thoughts until they were too heavy to bother with.

Garfield was wrestling with himself but at the same time he was wrestling something much larger than he could ever be. Garfield continued to tug back and forth with his thoughts, searching for a secret that he'd missed the first and second time through.

Suddenly it all made sense. Garfield's hand flew to his belt where he usually kept his cell phone. Instead of closing on metal Garfield was left holding only air. His phone had fallen off at some point during his rushed exit from Miquel's home. "Do you have a cell phone?" Garfield asked, his voice now more his than it had been for several minutes. The fog was withdrawing from his head, leaving Garfield feeling hollow. Garfield shook off the empty feeling as best he could. There was something very wrong with this entire situation.

The freckled driver held out a small black phone in a trembling hand. Garfield grabbed it but instantly felt hurt by the fear in the driver's eyes. Nobody should ever be afraid of him and here he was terrifying somebody.

Garfield flipped open the phone and punched in Richard's cell phone number. After two rings a voice spoke from the other end. "Hello, Dick speaking."

"Dick," Garfield spoke in a rushed voice, eager to get all of this out in case the fog came back before he finished. "Where are you?" Garfield didn't wait for a response. "It doesn't matter. Look, you need to check the artifact right now!"

Richard's voice came back hesitant and slow. "Gar, I've been keeping an eye on it for the past twenty-five minutes. There is no way that anybody has gotten in."

"DICK!" Garfield shouted back in his hysteria, "She leaves replacements! Every time she leaves a replacement; make sure you're guarding the right thing!"

The call was dropped but Garfield continued to talk to emptiness, unaware that he'd been cut off. Richard rushed into the bedroom and scanned the wall that housed the safe. The painting was crooked; somebody had moved it and put it back into place. Richard felt the dam that held back his annoyance crack and begin to leak. What Richard didn't realize was that he had noticed the crooked painting earlier only to have the memory mysteriously altered.

Richard barreled into the bathroom, threw off the tank covering and plunged his hand into the water. When he took the clear container out, Richard tore the top off. Inside the Tupperware box was a granite hand, ornately carved with sharp fingernails and beefy fingers. Where on the original artifact there had been a way to screw it to the other pieces, this one had a painted black raven.

Richard cursed loudly and flung the stone to the porcelain floor tiles. It shattered on impact and for the briefest of moments Richard had a glimpse of what was going on. All the pieces fell into place as the hand shattered on the spotless floor. Some force pushed it to the side but the thought sprang back, fueled by fury. Rachel was The Raven. It all made sense. Thoughts swam to the surface, unbidden, but all too clear.

Dialog began to echo in Richard's mind as he remembered his first date with Rachel. The first clue of many had been right there.

ooooo

Richard breathed heavily through his mouth as he hoisted himself off the sidewalk and brushed the rocks off his skin from where they had dug in and tried to make a temporary home. Rachel took his hand and helped him to his feet, never once losing her balance.

"This," Richard grimaced as he put pressure on his battered limbs, "is not fair. How in the world did you get so good at this?" As Richard asked this, a small girl sailed by, showing Richard that even a seven-year-old was better at this than him. After all, this was his sixth unexpected trip to the pavement while Rachel (and even the little girl who had just started skating backwards) had never once looked off balance.

"Don't be such a baby," Rachel joked while circling around him backwards and rolling over the leaves on the ground. They crackled softly as she slid over them. "Believe me, years of gymnastics is not worth being able to stay on your feet on the off chance that wheels are attached to them."

"Gymnastics?" Richard snorted. Then he saw the serious look Rachel was giving him. "Gymnastics," he quickly rectified, this time leaving out his laughter.

"Yes," Rachel rolled her eyes. "And you were right the first time." Rachel continued in reference to Richard's reaction to the sport.

ooooo

The scene was clear as day to Richard: He knew the location of every leaf Rachel had rolled over, but as the words played in his ears the image that accompanied it was one of a woman hidden in a blue cloak leaping through trip lasers. Gymnastics. The Raven liked blue and so did Rachel. The Raven liked ravens and they were Rachel's favorite animal. All the time, things had pointed to Rachel as the suspect. But Richard had never seen it because Richard hadn't wanted to see it.

The Raven was in her early twenties and so was Rachel. Rachel was The Raven. Richard never noticed the fog that had entered his mind and tried to prevent these thoughts and he never realized it when it left.

Richard was running down the stairs of Miguel's house and out to the car just as Garfield exited a car and started running up the fire escape. The rusted metal ladder supported Garfield's lean frame easily and he quickly crawled up the rungs until he was outside Miguel's old apartment. That just meant that Rachel was one floor up.

As Garfield climbed up the last few feet of ladder a voice drifted down to him. It was a murmur at first. Rachel was talking to somebody. But if Garfield had guessed right, Rachel was actually talking to a some_thing_.

Garfield reached Rachel's window and peered inside. Before Rachel sat the completed artifact. Rachel was pacing and talking in hushed whispers to a stone in her hand. A red gem. Garfield tried to call out to Rachel but his voice caught in his throat. He tried again but nothing came out.

Rachel sat crossed legged in front of the artifact, her eyes glazed over and crossed. Garfield watched in stunned silence as Rachel extended her hand until she held the gem above the palm of the clawed hand. "The gem was born of Evil's fire," she spoke in an echoing voice devoid of all the wit and sharp-tongued humor that usually graced her tone.

Garfield tried to move but found he couldn't. The same fog that had surrounded his mind was back and soaking up every electrical current that Garfield tried to send to his limbs. "The gem shall be his portal," Rachel continued in the same dead tone. "He comes to…" at this point Rachel paused and shook her head. Garfield saw Rachel's eyes clear and for a moment the fear in her violet eyes shot out and stabbed Garfield in the heart. He tried to move, to help, but could do nothing but watch as the violet was consumed by a swirling gray fog. "Claim," Rachel continued as if she'd never stopped.

Garfield felt himself go numb. Things in the room started to flutter in powerful gusts of wind. "He comes to sire," Rachel blinked away the fog once more and for a moment their eyes met. She was trying to speak to him – trying to say anything when there was so much to say. The fear in Rachel's eyes made Garfield realize they were going to die here – tonight.

Rachel's eyes went gray again and she continued. This time Rachel spoke in a voice that was anything but her own. "The end of all things mortal!" Rachel thundered in a rumbling voice that shook Garfield to his core. A beam of red light shot out of the palm of the artifact before Rachel and pierced her hand. She cried out in pain as blood fell to the floor. Every finger lit up and shot similar yet smaller beams into the same place, splattering more of Rachel's blood on the floor and eliciting more screams. That flash of light was all Garfield knew… and then there was nothing.

* * *

**Next Update:** Wednesday, October 18, 2006

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	19. Access Denied

Okay. Time to address a few things that seem to have caught the attention of the masses: Characters. More specifically, character death. Would I honestly do something that mean? I don't know, would I? You'll have to stay tuned to figure it out. I'm a little hyper right now. I get like this around the time of major assesments. It makes me rather annoying to be around during the week of final exams. Am I honestly the only person who likes those things? There half days, for crying out loud and we've already covered all the material! I am not taking exams this morning. No, instead I will be taking the PSAT. Joy.

Right, onto the story. This weeks installation of "Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters" is a little longer than the others. I just didn't feel right having a cliff-hanger this week. I didn't have the heart. That and I really didn't want to break to continuity of the climax more than it has already been broken. Anyway, enjoy this little post and I look forward to seeing you all again next Wednesday.

**Disclaimer:** ... Perhaps the nineteenth time is the charm?

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Access Denied

Richard drove a little over the speed limit on his way to Rachel's apartment. She would go there. Maybe Rachel would disappear overnight but Richard doubted it. His mind was on anything but his driving, a fact that wasn't missed by the people he managed to cut off.

Richard wasn't sure what he was going to do, even as he drove to Rachel's apartment to confront her. Rachel wasn't a bad person. Richard didn't think so, at least. Anger flooded Richard's veins until his every cell was silently screaming because that was all they could do. It wasn't as if Richard could arrest Rachel. For one thing, he didn't want to. For another, he wasn't authorized to make any arrests in Jump City. He'd managed to get away with it over the past few months because he'd been arresting stupid people who were obviously guilty. Rachel wasn't linked to The Raven except by Richard's intuition.

Richard liked Rachel. Finding out that she had been lying to him, maybe even using him, made Richard feel nauseous. He'd soaked up every last shred of contact he'd had with Rachel and ignored his own common sense. There had been an alarm going off in Richard's head ever since he'd first seen her and only now was he listening to it. The small smiles, the witty banter, the light pecks, the tender kisses; Richard had never stopped to think about the what-ifs. He'd done what felt right. Richard had allowed himself for just one moment to be human and from that moment came another and another. And this was the result!

As Richard maneuvered through the streets full of evening commuters only one thought was going through his head. One agonizing thought, one painful question, one answer that Richard both wanted to know with every fiber of his being and never wanted to know: How much of Rachel had been fake? The very implications of that question shattered Richard to his core before it was even voiced.

Richard pulled down a small side street, leaving the bustling city life behind him and heading for the residential areas. As Richard turned away from the never-ending night life, he was assaulted by a sight that was so out of place that it took him a moment to realize what was wrong.

The streetlights weren't working. Every streetlight was stifled, the light struggling to penetrate something that was trapping it more thoroughly than any pane of grime encrusted glass or five inch layer of dust.

Richard struggled to see the road ahead of him as his own headlights fell pray to the same overpowering darkness. As it turned out, the headlights weren't necessary. The street was completely empty, an event strange enough in itself. A few blocks away, Richard could see an eerie red light shooting into the sky. Without knowing how he knew, Richard knew that it was coming from Rachel's apartment building.

Richard applied more pressure to the gas pedal, urging the car to go faster. He needed to catch up with Rachel; he needed to talk to her. There were so many things Richard wanted to do. He wanted to accuse Rachel, he wanted to scream at Rachel, and, as Richard got closer to the apartment, as the red light filled his vision, he wanted to just see her and make sure everything was okay. Richard's entire body felt sluggish, as if he were covered in heavy fabric that had been submerged in water. He kept pushing through it.

Richard slammed on the breaks when he pulled alongside the apartment. Swirls of red erupted from the top of the building, obviously not bothered by the fact that they were passing through something that was supposedly solid. The night was filled with a low roar just on the edge of hearing that reverberated through the air and rattled its way through Richard's frame.

Richard threw the door open and sprung out of the convertible. The car door seemed reluctant to open. Richard ran up the steps of the building to a worn green door complete with peeling paint and an ornate lion knocker that had once been painted gold. Richard tried the handle and found the door swung open easily. Between the open door and the mysterious red light Richard's worry and anger were quickly giving way to fear.

Richard drew his gun from his hip holster and moved to enter the building. Everything was completely silent. As Richard crossed the threshold the low roar he had heard, previously faint and easy to pass off as nothing, now filled his ears, pounding in his head and howling so pitifully through the hallways that it hurt Richard's heart to hear it. It was a sound filled with such pain and agony that all the eternal residents of hell could not have competed with its pain.

Richard tried to follow the sound as the air continued to swirl around him, picking up loose papers and small objects and throwing them around pell-mell. Richard sprinted up the stairs, the wooly brown carpet over them snatching with tiny fabric fingers at Richard's shoes. Halfway up the third landing, Richard passed a redhead in her thirties who was carrying a pig. The woman wasn't moving. She seemed suspended. There was no movement, no reaction to the torturous noise cascading from the floor above. Just a statue.

When Richard passed the woman he paused for a moment. Before his mind could completely wrap around what he was seeing and doing Richard felt himself plucked up and plunged into what felt like ice water and yet he never moved. Sounds faded from Richard's ears with such a ringing finality that he longed for the return of the thunderous wind. Visions became indistinct until Richard lost the ability to maintain focus. His eyes drifted with his attention to the stair ahead of him, to the pig cradled against the redhead's bust, to the redhead's unconcerned face, to a strip of wallpaper that was falling off.

Richard felt terrific! He didn't have a care in the word. In fact, he felt freer than he ever had. There was nothing to worry about. No father he needed to get revenge against, no partner he had to push through life because he lacked the motivation to do it himself, no police chief who had a cattle prod shoved up his butt, no giant puzzles that needed solving.

Puzzle. Richard mulled over the word in his head. It had a nice ring to it. Puzzles were good in moderation and great things to take to the beach. Richard didn't feel like doing a puzzle right now. He just wanted to stay here and watch the light fixture swinging from the ceiling. Back and forth. Back and forth. Rachel liked puzzles. And the trance was broken.

Richard jerked his eyes away from the light fixture and charged up the remaining stairs to the forth landing. Richard felt winded as he finally got onto the fourth floor landing. Three doors down, a red light was issuing from a closed door. Just as with the light passing through the ceiling, is didn't seem too concerned with something as mundane as whether or not something was solid. Richard crossed over to the door, forcing his feet to move.

As Richard approached the door he experienced, once more, the sensation of being plucked up and plunged into something. When Richard regained his senses he found himself surrounded by a black fog. Richard was spinning out of control and quickly became nauseous as he flipped up and down, falling toward a gravitational pull that kept deciding to move to the opposite side of his body.

"You're quite a hardy specimen, for a human." Richard heard a thunderous voice chuckle as he tried in vain to regain his sense of direction. The darkness swarmed around him, pressing itself on his eyeballs until Richard was certain that it would punch straight through the jelly-like organs.

Richard fell onto what passed as solid ground and pushed himself to his feet. Or tried to. Richard stumbled as soon as one knee was up and fell unceremoniously onto what he realized was a deep maroon floor. The maroon felt rough and uneven but Richard was thankful to have ground beneath his feet again.

"It has been some time since I encountered a being capable of actively resisting my will. You are a curious being and a wretched creature: Fueled by righteous anger and the thirst to prove yourself to a person who will never accept you."

Richard lifted his head reluctantly to scan the blackness for the person speaking to him. After a while Richard noticed that there was a large maroon pillar with black stripes on it behind him. Richard looked down with a growing sense of dread to see that instead of a floor he was kneeling on a giant hand.

"You were not supposed to be here," the voice continued. Richard looked up and saw four horrible red eyes glinting at him out of a giant triangular face. Dirty white hair extended from the thing's scalp and two hideous antlers sprouted from its head.

Richard was at a loss for words. What in the world was this! Richard remembered with a jolt of fear that the artifacts had history behind them. The root of all evil, Scath, was said to have been captured in the pieces ages ago. Richard had laughed it off when he first learned this but, kneeling in Trigon's hand, he was forced to accept that demons were very real.

"How did you manage to break so many of the obstacles I set for you?" Richard didn't answer. He hadn't remembered that it was a question. It hadn't sounded like anything other than a statement presented as some strange test.

Richard started as the four gleaming eyes above him narrowed upon not being answered. "It does not matter," the demon continued after a moment, "your presence here was not expected but it is of no consequence. Your woman will soon have outlived her usefulness and I will be able to dispose of you pests."

Richard forced himself to his feet, fighting the tricks his head was playing on him. "What have you done to Rachel and Garfield!" Richard yelled.

Trigon grinned in a way that stretched his maroon features to extremes that made him look even more iniquitous than usual. "I have done nothing to your woman that she did not wish done. As for your _friend_," Trigon spoke the word with an undeniable trace of humorless mirth, "he made the mistake of trying to fight me but not being strong enough. Electricity is a crude method of power but humans supply it in generous amounts. Your _friend_ has to make up for the energy he forced me to waste."

Richard could feel his temper bubbling under his skull, thrumming against the bone and forcing him into action. Richard raised his weapon, firmly clasped in his right hand, and fired. The bullet went all of two feet before stopping, suspended in the air. "What a pathetic attempt," Trigon chuckled. "Rudimentary projectiles will do more harm to you than to me." And with that, the bullet flipped around and shot toward Richard.

As Richard saw the projectile sail at him, Trigon's words echoed in the back of his mind. _"It has been some time since I encountered a being capable of actively resisting my will."_ It was all about will. Richard closed his eyes and focused on getting away from here – hopefully before the bullet got to him.

The first thing Richard did once he fell onto the hardwood floor of the fourth story was scream. It was a short startled yelp and Richard stopped when he realized that he was out of the demon's hand and lying, unharmed, on the floor, as if he had never left. The hall was the same as when he had left and Richard got to his feet as if unsure of how to use them. Rachel and Garfield were in danger. The most important thing right now was for Richard to stop whatever was happening.

Richard holstered his gun as he rose off the floor. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid another situation where he could be shot. Richard pushed through the weighted-down feeling and strode over to Rachel's door. Richard was terrified but Richard wiped the fear from his mind to focus on one thing: The people he cared about needed his help. That placed him beyond any type of fear.

Richard halted before the door. As his confidence drained from him Richard hesitantly reached out for the door handle. As Richard interrupted the flow of light he felt his arm go numb. Then the light shot out through his arm to continue its journey, leaving Richard with the bizarre sensation that all the bones in his arm had disappeared.

Richard forced his hand over the door handle and with a great effort managed to twist the knob. As soon as the door was loosened a great force rammed into it from inside the room and threw the wood off its hinges. Richard jumped to the side and watched as the plain white door crashed into the opposite wall with so much force that it was reduced to splinters.

Richard turned now to the room and felt his heart jump into his throat. Rachel was inside, her mouth open in a silent scream. Richard saw her sitting cross-legged on the ground with her hair thrashing in the wind. Her eyes were wide open and sightless.

Rachel's hand was surrounded by red light. Small objects flew through the air and Richard noticed a paperclip sticking out of Rachel's arm where it had come to rest. There was a small ray of light that was extending, tendril like, to the fire escape. As Richard followed its progress he saw Garfield in a state not much better than Rachel's. He looked like he was in a drunken stupor but his eyes had rolled so far back that only the whites were visible and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth.

Richard didn't stop to think about what he was going up against. Instead, Richard ran toward the room. When he reached the doorway, a shimmering silver barrier sprung up and caught him in the chest. Richard arched his back as he was flung from the open doorway. The silver barrier shimmered back into nothing as Richard slammed into the wall and collapsed on the floor. Only to get up again and make a second run.

The second attempt was just as successful as the first. Richard fell with a grunt onto the floor. And pushed himself up again. He walked to the barrier again, this time going a little more slowly. When Richard was close enough, he reached out toward the door. The transparent silver sheen blocked his hand and repelled it so quickly and so violently that Richard heard, even over the raucous tornado, a distinct pop as his arm seared with pain and dislocated.

Richard felt a presence rummaging through his mind and scowled at the room while he tried to kick out the intruder. "You cannot help them." Richard tried to ignore the voice but it was in his head and left no corner for him to run to. "You are wasting your time. But you know this. What do you think to accomplish with brute force?" Richard closed his eyes and imagined Rachel's smiling face, her lilting laugh that was so rare and all the more precious because of it, her eyes, sparkling with mischief and an understanding that made Richard swell inside. "Yes," the voice in Richard's head said slowly, "but she belongs to me and your fifteen minutes are up."

Richard snapped his eyes open and looked into the room. Richard focused his entire mind and body on Rachel as he charged the barrier one last time. The pain was beyond description. Knives were tearing at Richard's flesh but it was more than that. They were inside of him. He was freezing but was simultaneously being burned alive. Richard just looked at Rachel and focused on what she was to him, what they had with each other, as the phantom weapons ravaged his body.

Richard fell to the floor but he had crossed the threshold. The wind was even worse in the room and pounded off the walls so strongly that it was hard to focus on anything. As if Richard had been hit by a freight train, he was slammed backward toward the invisible barrier. But Richard refused to be thrown into the hall again.

Richard was pinned against the silver sheet, which tried to push him off. Then the wind seized him and threw him right back and the volley continued. Richard felt his interiors slosh around as G-Force tried to tear his body in half. Richard tried in vain to move as the red light over Rachel's hand started to spread up her arm. Richard threw a glance to Garfield and saw that his head was shaking back and forth like he had just entered a seizure.

Richard had run out of ideas and as his actions became more and more limited the fear started to eat at him. This was over his head. It was over all of their heads. Richard focused on happy thoughts but suddenly happiness seemed to be a concept beyond his grasp: An abstruse subject of which Richard understood little.

Richard felt himself losing his grasp of reality as his body was thrown back and forth. Richard's brain was screaming at him to just shut down. If he stopped thinking he would stop feeling and getting rid of this pain was more than a good idea: It was a necessary one if Richard didn't want to end up with his liver in his ribcage. Blackness began to float into Richard's eyes. This was not an intrusive dark but a welcome one, a natural one. Richard's eyes closed and he drifted away from the room, the light, the pain, the emotion, and Rachel.

Where Richard traveled, there was nothing. There was no whiteness; there was no blackness; there was no weightlessness; there was no euphoria. There just was. Richard may have been moving but he didn't think so. Whether his eyes were open or closed didn't matter because the same image presented itself regardless. All Richard saw was a small speck of light so intense that it burned white. All Richard felt was the desire to get to the speck, all the while knowing that it was impossible.

Was this death? Richard didn't feel dead, though, having never been dead before, he had no criteria to judge against. Richard just sat, or floated, or swam, or drifted (he wasn't sure which) in a direction he couldn't discern. Regardless of if or in what direction he moved the light was still tantalizingly placed in his line of vision. He knew it was there but he wasn't getting closer.

Richard felt as if he was infused with lead. Before he had felt heavy and sluggish. This went much deeper than wearing heavy fabric. It was a feeling that penetrated deep into his flesh and burrowed into his skeleton until it rested in his bone marrow. It would be so easy to stop caring, to let the weight crush him into dust. Richard just couldn't keep going against this demon.

Even as Richard's mind gave into the feeling, even as his body was attacked by red tendrils of light without him being aware, his heart would not capitulate. His emotions, his soul, a magical thing deep within him started to fight back. It was a small thing, Richard did not notice it and if Trigon was aware of it he did not move to stop it. Yet it was strong enough to pick Richard off the floor one last time.

In a state beyond reason or thought Richard crawled along the floor, resisting against all odds, as if protected by a more powerful force, the gale around him. Richard's eyes were still closed and he still battled against the weight that threatened to pulverize him.

The light was getting closer. Richard could finally see the speck of light before him growing in size and heat radiated from it in a way that promised warmth and comfort and protection. Richard felt himself drawn to the speck. Richard reached out with his mind, desperate to caress the loving flame. At the same time, Richard reached out with his physical hand, guided by the same force that had seized his body at this critical moment, and closed around Rachel's outstretched arm.

As Richard's hand closed around Rachel's wrist, as the red light was momentarily blocked and forced to find a way through Richard's body, flesh touched flesh. As Richard brushed against Rachel's hand the light went out and Rachel, Richard, and Garfield drifted from the unnatural heaviness to the soft welcome hand of sleep.

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**Next Update: **Wednesday, October 25, 2006

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	20. The Awakening

Hmm, I have little to say this week. Other than complaining about the fact that fanfiction is not giving me any of my email (PM's and story alerts) I've got nothing. Oh, yes I do. I would like to say that this is the second to last post of "Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters." On November 1st this story is coming to a close. And I'm starting wrestling season but you don't care about that.

**Disclaimer:** Balkoth does not own Teen Titans. They would be the property of DC comics and Cartoon Network.

* * *

The Awakening

There was a very steady, very comfortable beeping somewhere. It wasn't all that interesting but served to distract Richard from the pain he was feeling. And Richard was in pain; there was no mistaking that. The hypnotic beep made everything better.

Richard could see himself, as if his eyes had leapt from his head to afford him his present viewpoint, standing in a never-ending line surrounded by bright yellow light. Richard saw himself advance in time with the beeps. He conjured the image of St. Peters standing at the gates of Heaven and scanning everybody who approached as if they were grocery articles. The beep was just a more modern way to check who got into Heaven and who didn't. Richard was a little impatient as the line moved forward. He'd never liked standing in line.

The light started to fade away but Richard could still hear the mechanical sound. There was movement nearby; there were voices at work, and by the sound of it both the voices and the movement were frantic. "Get me the anesthesia; he's coming out of it!" Richard just barely registered something cold and rigid, plastic, being pressed his mouth and then he floated away again.

When Richard next awoke he was surprised by what met his eyes as he took in his surroundings. He was in a hospital bed and dressed in a cheap paper gown. The walls were a bright white that hurt his eyes. He reached for his left breast pocket only to discover that the gown didn't have one and, thus, his sunglasses wouldn't be there. The ceiling and floor each had an inch of colorful wallpaper right on the fringe. Blue and yellow. It wasn't really so much a pattern as a pitiful attempt to lighten the atmosphere, thick with the smell of medication and disease.

"Mr. Grayson? You're awake?" Richard jerked his head around at the sound. The voice was soft and feminine but sounded harsh and unnatural to him. The nurse who had just poked her head through the door came into full view. She had a cherubic face and wide mossy eyes that complimented her earthy hair. Richard's first impression was that he was looking at a nymph.

Richard tried to sit up; but, as soon as he lifted off the mattress, gravity and dizziness grabbed him and dragged him back down. The nurse bustled over to prevent Richard from sitting up again. It was a good thing she did because Richard was already preparing to force himself into a sitting position when she finally laid a slender hand on his shoulder.

"You need to rest, sir." She said it kindly but there was an authoritative note to her voice that made it clear that she was not to be trifled with.

Richard tried to sit up regardless and barely got two centimeters off the bed before she forced him back down gently but with finality. Richard opened his mouth to speak and his words caught in his throat until they formed a giant lump that made it hard for him to breath. Richard closed his mouth, swallowed the lump, and tried again. "What happened?" Richard asked. His own voice felt alien, neglected, and harsh.

The nurse blinked a few times. Richard took the time to look for her nametag. Maddie, as Richard learned she was called, answered after a brief pause. "You don't remember?" she asked. "I was hoping you would." In response to Richard's questioning gaze she added, "Nobody seems to know what happened. The news made it out to be an industrial accident or something but the next day they were calling it a terrorist attack. It couldn't have been industry though: there isn't any real industry in the part of the city where you were found."

Richard closed his eyes and tried to remember. There had been a lot of pain and wind. Had it been a terrorist attack? For some reason, Richard doubted it. Richard remembered that he was Richard Grayson, a private detective. He had a girlfriend named Rachel Roth. He had a partner named Garfield Logan and the two of them were working on a case. Richard couldn't remember what the case was. His memory didn't seem to extend that far, as if, for some reason, select pieces had been cut out and discarded.

To give himself time to think and hold off the next question Maddie was going to throw at him, Richard asked, "Where is Gar?"

"Mr. Logan was discharged two weeks ago. He's been back to visit you almost every day." Richard saw a small smile creep onto Maddie's lips as she decided that Richard didn't have amnesia.

Richard attempted to get up again and this time Maddie, with a resigned sigh, lent him her shoulder. As soon as Richard was on his feet, Maddie stepped away. It took all of one second for Richard to topple back to the bed. "Will you stay down this time?" Maddie asked with a twinge of exasperation coloring her tone. Richard glared at her but didn't try to get up again.

"Good," Maddie said. She walked over to the wall and Richard noticed that a few wires were leading to him. It was strange that he hadn't seen them until now. He was plugged into some machines, none of which had a discernable purpose to Richard's eye. After she made a few notes on a clipboard hanging above the whirring machines, Maddie left.

ooooo

It took a little less than two days for Richard to remember why he hated hospitals. Aside from Maddie's check-ins to make sure Richard hadn't died or made a renewed break for freedom and Garfield's frequent visits, Richard was left with nothing to do but contemplate the bare white walls. They flashed bright sunlight into his eyes, reminding him that he was trapped inside on what promised to be a nice day.

"Hey, Dick," Richard diverted his gaze from the drab walls and focused on Garfield. "How are you holding up?"

Richard sat up straighter in bed and gave a tiny shrug.

"That's a relief," Garfield laughed. "Still drawing a blank on how you ended up here?" Garfield asked. Garfield made a habit of posing questions like this, as if trying to trigger some sort of memory recall. It had worked a little but it still irked Richard: if Garfield knew something he should have been telling Richard not the other way around. Of course, if Garfield had told him Richard wouldn't have believed him. That was why Garfield kept hoping that something would give Richard a push in the right direction.

"What have you been up to since yesterday?" Richard asked lightly. Even if he didn't openly admit it, Richard was desperate for any sort of news from the outside world: there were only so many times one could count the number of leaves that stubbornly clung to the trees next to the window before going insane.

"Oh," Garfield waved his hand to dismiss the question, "nothing special. Dodging reporters who want to know the _truth_ about what happened and checking up on a few things."

"They won't go away, Gar. You should just answer a few of their questions."

"Tell you what, Dick. When you remember, you have my permission to answer all the questions you want. Me – I prefer to keep this to myself." Richard chuckled. Garfield loved the limelight. Why he was staying quiet wasn't something that Richard could fathom.

"Have you seen Rachel or Miguel recently?" Richard asked as Maddie entered the room and silently went about recording data.

Garfield glanced sideways at Maddie. "Yeah," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I've seen Rachel a little." Richard puzzled over why he hadn't. If Maddie and Garfield were right, this story would have gotten to everybody in Jump City by now. Why hadn't Rachel visited? Some part of Richard knew the answer and he woke up in the dead of night, sweat dripping from his brow, as the thought wormed its way back into the depths of Richard's mind where he could not consciously follow.

"Well," Richard prompted, "how is she? Come to think of it, where is she?"

The lay person would not have noticed how Garfield started to clasp his hands together before catching himself and hastily stuffing the offensive hands into his pockets. Richard, being a little more observant than the lay person, followed the movement and finished by staring at Garfield's pockets. "Rachel's alright," Garfield lied.

"Gar," Richard sighed, his eyelids drooping in defeat, "what aren't you telling me?"

Garfield looked as if he was about to lie again, but then he thought better of it. "Well Dick, this whole thing was a little disastrous. It could have been worse, but it was still pretty bad."

"Gar," Richard growled while grinding his teeth together.

"Just be patient, Dick," Garfield insisted while throwing Maddie, who was now entering an observation for the third time, a significant look. "I'm getting to it." Maddie, after running out of reasons to justify her continued presence in the room, exited with leaden feet. "Tell me everything you remember – no matter how unimportant you think it is," Garfield said. Richard told him.

"So you remember wind and pain?" Garfield asked. "What about light?" Richard slowly nodded his head slowly. "What color was it?" Garfield pressed.

"I think is was red."

"Right," Garfield allowed a sad chuckle. "Red light, howling wind, indescribable pain. Do you remember people?"

Richard didn't remember people at all yet at the same time he ventured a tentative guess. "Rachel?"

Garfield walked over to the window and surveyed the world outside. Richard could see the pain in his face. "All three of us," Garfield said at length. "We were all there: you, Rachel, and I. Of course, you were a last minute addition." Garfield smiled but it was like chumming the water and the dark aura around him only increased.

Richard watched Garfield in silence for a moment and cast his thoughts as deeply into his mind as he dared. There was only one thing Richard could think of that would connect all the dots. "Whatever happened to The Raven?" – and Garfield helped him out of bed to show him.

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**Next Update:** Wednesday, November 1, 2006

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	21. The End

I am both in mourning and in relief now. I hope that the conclussion to this story is satisfactory to my readers. I feel that it has done some justice but perhaps not its full potential. You'll have to tell me what you think.

**Disclaimer:** If you really need to read this after twenty posts, there is no hope for you. If you really don't get the message yet then, yes; I own Teen Titans. The idea was mine from the beginning and I am filthy rich and writing this story incognito.

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The End

Richard was looking at Rachel, thought it was hard to tell. Machines maintained a constant vigil over Rachel's motionless form. Each one threw beeps, clicks, or whirs into the air in time with the line patterns that were being drawn next to her. A tube was inserted into Rachel's mouth and Richard knew that was all that was keeping her alive: Rachel no longer had the ability to breathe on her own.

Rachel's hair, once so sleek and full of life, had been reduced to the texture of crumbled asphalt. Her skin had been bleached of color so thoroughly that it was not hard to entertain the notion that she was coated in flour. Rachel seemed to be sleeping and for a while Richard tried to convince himself that was all that was wrong.

Richard wasn't sure how long he stood before Rachel. It could have been ten seconds or just as easily ten years. There was no traffic, no movement, down this hallway. The only thing Richard was aware of was a motionless Rachel.

Richard had struggled to walk out of his room, even with Garfield's help. Now that he had reached Rachel's room, Richard felt a little stronger. That strength had a cost and Richard was just beginning to feel the sting.

Garfield hadn't said anything. He knew that his input would be useless and only serve to anger Richard. The two private investigators stood side by side and, for Richard, it seemed as if life had stopped around them. The hallway they were in felt as if the walls were breathing.

A thick pane of glass separated Richard from where he wanted to be and he leaned heavily against the transparent barrier. This time it didn't look as if he could force his way through and fix everything. Richard stared intently and willed Rachel's eyes to flutter or her brain waves to fluctuate. Neither happened and Rachel remained in the same comatose state she had been in since entering the hospital.

Richard had a vague memory of Garfield urging him to return to his room. Sometime after that, Garfield must have left – Richard had no idea when. Eventually a lone attendant came and ushered Richard back to bed. It was far from an easy task. Richard didn't fight; it was as if he no longer had the energy, or the motivation, or the ability, to care. All he did was refuse to move. He did not get back up when accidentally pushed down nor did he do anything to indicate that he was alive. For all intents and purposes, Richard was with Rachel, just like he wanted to be. Motionless, thoughtless, true, but, at least, for a brief moment, they were together.

Richard was discharged from the hospital within a week of his visit to Rachel. There was an absence to him, though. He did not feel complete nor could he discover how to fill the void. Rachel had become a part of him, a confidant, a friend, but above all else, somebody who he could be honest with: somebody who he could be human around without the fear of being mocked (as was the usual case when dealing with Garfield). And now she couldn't help him nor him her.

Life continued for Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan. They continued to get cases in Jump City and continued to work together as always. Richard visited Rachel every day. It didn't matter what else needed to be done or what job they were on, Richard would take a little work and watch Rachel. Often times he would bring work but then not get anywhere on it. Richard visited every day for a month, then two. Over time, his visits became less frequent and his hope that Rachel would sit up one day and ask what time it was dwindled. Richard refused to leave Jump City; their vacation had been indefinitely extended. Richard couldn't leave without Rachel.

ooooo

In the early summer Garfield bounded into their office and tossed a notepad to Richard. The notepad landed on the desk but Richard didn't bother to look up. Jotted down on the paper in a hasty scrawl that only Garfield could produce was a phone number. "It's right on there, Dick," Garfield sighed in his euphoria at having finally retrieved the information. The number, even if hard to read, was the cell phone number of Randolph Shawn, known pedophile and drug dealer.

"Shawn's number?" Richard asked for clarification without looking up from his book, an article he'd salvaged from the remains of Rachel's room. It was a large encyclopedia-like collection of gods and demons. Rachel had mentioned her interest in mythology and other such areas but Richard had never suspected it ran this deep.

Garfield stopped bouncing as Richard just shrugged off the new information. He had been a royal pain (more so than usual) for weeks now, always insisting that both of them work until they couldn't see straight and now that Garfield had managed to get a crucial piece of information Richard was ignoring it.

"Um, Dick?" Garfield approached the desk and glanced at the open book. It was the same book Richard had been reading for months. Reading and re-reading until he probably had the whole thing memorized. "Are you going to look at that thing or what?" he finally asked.

Richard looked up, his trademark sunglasses now absent. "I'll get to it Gar," he snapped. "I'm in the middle of something right now, just in case you can't see."

Garfield thought about being offended but decided against it. At least one of them had to be rational and Richard hadn't been doing very well in that department recently. "You've been reading that book forever, dude. It can't be that good."

Richard continued to ignore Garfield and turned a page slowly, almost lovingly. "I said I'd get to it, Gar. You just need to worry about how you're going to get on Shawn's good side when we finally make contact."

Garfield gesticulated wildly at the notepad only inches from Richard's hand. "The information for contact is right there! Dick, you need to get your head out of the clouds. We have work to do."

"My head is perfectly attached," Richard responded calmly, almost dreamily, as his eyes traveled across the familiar pages in a caress.

"I don't think so," Garfield whispered to himself. Out-loud he just uttered; "Whatever you say, Dick. Whatever you say." Garfield crossed back to the door and yanked it open. The frame shook as it was slammed behind Garfield. Richard just sat in his chair reading.

Episodes like that continued. Richard pushed both Garfield and himself harder than ever and they started turning out more and more successfully closed cases. But Richard would sometimes just lose interest and float in his own head. He'd be on stake out and forget to care about what he was looking for. He would be researching and find himself drifting from what he needed to do back to Rachel's books.

Richard could tell that Garfield was trying to help him let go. He'd set Richard up on blind dates more than once. Richard had stood the people up each time. He wasn't interested in letting go of Rachel. He wanted to bring her back. He'd wait if he needed to but Richard was as determined as he could be. He would either get Rachel to come back to him or go to her himself.

Richard's visits became less frequent but what they lacked in frequency they made up for in length. Richard would go see Rachel for hours at a time. He would talk to her. Richard would ask questions and provide narrative about what he'd been up to. Rachel never gave him the courtesy of responding.

It went on like that for years. Garfield and Richard worked together and helped reduce the crime rate in Jump City while being all but assimilated into the police force. Life went on but, to Richard, it seemed a mockery of what it had been and a hollow shell of what it could have been.

* * *

Richard Grayson, Dick between friends, is retired. He has been for some time now. In his prime, Dick was a private investigator with his long-time partner and friend, Garfield Logan. Usually people called him Gar because he hated that he shared a name with an animated cat. Dick wasn't quite sure what had become of Garfield. They had been slowly drifting apart for years, tracing back to his first day out of the hospital. 

Now that Dick is retired he writes. Not a lot, and never under his real name, preferring instead to use a pseudonym. What he writes are his more…unusual… adventures as an investigator. This one took the cake, at least for Dick.

Dick has written a few books now, seven to be exact, all under the same name. For most of the world, the detectives Richard Grayson and Garfield Logan are fictional characters. Barely anybody realizes that the stories and the characters are real. That's fine for Dick. Rachel Roth was the real story here. The Raven, the portal, the mystery; those don't matter that much in the grand scope of things. They might have then but not now.

In the lonely hours when the sun has yet to cross the horizon, on nights when Richard wakes up covered in cold sweat and can't fall back asleep, every time the darkness presses in on him, every time he sees a flashing red light, every time there is a windy storm, and worst of all, every time he sees a young couple brimming with affection and energy and life; Dick is forced to reflect that while only one life was claimed that night, two had been destroyed.

Sighing heavily Dick closed the manuscript. He'd sent it to his usual editor and it had been accepted. Within a week the book would hit the shelves. This would be the last one he would ever write. Forcing himself from the rigid chair Dick groped for his cane. The sturdy wood in his hands, Dick hobbled out of the old office. Logan and Grayson hadn't operated there for near two decades now, but there were memories here that needed to be set to rest.

Dick moved toward the stairs, cursing all the while that he'd never gotten over his fear of elevators; the six flights of stairs before him would be murder on his hips. Dick set out of room 666, walked down Hellion Way, and headed to the hospital. He wanted to see Rachel one last time.

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**Next Update:** Is it mean to include this section this time? There will be no more posts added to Of Gumshoes and Moonlighters. I want to take this time to extend my gratitude to everyone who has read this story. To those who were with me from the beginning, and we both know who you are, thank you so much. To those who were on alert, it means a lot that you were invested enough to want an email for each update. For those who granted me the honor of favorite, thanks to you as well. Really, free advertisment. In all seriousness, thank you. 

Moving away from thank you mode, I wish to issue a last challenge to you all. There are a few formatting tricks sprinkled throughtout the story and if you see them, now that we have finished, point them out please. They are strange indulgences of a mildly OCD individual.

There will not be a sequel to this story. No way; no how. If I am certian about anything it is the open ended feel of the last post. What happens in the end? The reader has to interpret it as they see fit. I don't want to ruin that. I may do a prequel of sorts about when Garfield and Richard first become friends but I'm not certain.

Wrestling season will take a lot out of my ability to write but, for those who are interested in any future works, check my profile page. I have decided on one of two stories and am having difficulty making up my mind as I find both very promising.

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